It Doesn't have to Make Sense

Azrael,

Forgive my
Inquiries...
I'm growing restless.
Too tires to sleep,
Too tires to
Be.

Summer is passing
Much
Too fast-
I fear it's
Not
Enough.
Not anymore,
For
Anyone
Or
Anything
Including Myself.

These colors are
Fading.
Silence becomes
Gray-
For me now,too
As for
All.

I Drew it
Unto
My-self

Trying to Preserve
Innocence
In a tyrannical
World.

If I left would
It
Escape me?
To be free
To
Return to its
Natural Order?
Or, would I take
It
With me, to be
Gone
Forever
Like
Me
I
You
Everyone
Gone.

In other words- Would it
Impose
On your Authority?

Azrael,
My life, my love, my morbid muse.

More on the 14th

Rachel