Iron Parts

I remember a time when the world was faded around the edges.
The diseased aroma of bleach sat on the tip of my frail nose
and the subtle caress of deaths lingering kiss upon my chapped lips.
I fought with the blackness which enveloped my body,
and every day I sank deeper into its six-foot forever.

How sweet a surrender. To give in. To let go.
To end the searing pain and rest my tired head.
To lay my crumbling bones upon gods alter,
and fray the silken edges of life's last thread.

I see flashes of all the things I've never felt.
The caress of a lover against my skin.
The soft coo of a baby in my bundled arms.
The footprints I'll never leave in lands unknown.

So this light of mine keeps burning brightly,
It's the knife that cuts through the darkened sickness.
I hold on to that one last thread with a mighty grip,
to re-stitch its frayed edges, and re-build my heart with iron parts.