When my heart tightens,
the whine of a theremin throbs
as the strings in my chest
start to pop, lock, and drop<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And this sick beat slaps
as I swing my hips
and stamp my feet
and feel the face
of that which I fear
breathing on my neck,
nipping, biting,
blood oozing from the bore holes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But my voice hums from the lungs
and as long as I have air in them
I will rattle a rhythm and rhyme.
If this is how I end my time
then let the last sound in my throat be a song.
No matter how long the pain lasts –
whether slow or fast –
Let me shout out a stanza or two.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If you were in my shoes,
would you go quietly?
Would you not make the world quake
one last time?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When faced with being ripped
from time and space,
our souls must soar, beaming
and the sounds we leave behind
must be gleaming.
We must not die screaming;
we must die singing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(August 21, 2024)<\/p>\n\n\n\n