Yours truly, your conscience

I'm dead...

I've been this way for long now.

Death's dull, never changing

and always possessive, never letting me go.

Unlike life; she never took me in:

rather let me go, without a second thought.

I'm innocent, I'd let you know,

before you presume any guilt on my part.

I'm clueless as to why I was abandoned.

But I'm silent...as I'll always be...

...and dead.

I lay mute, and at peace with my suffering

My only hope, my father, looks the other way.

I had looked onto him with my hopes high

He'd nurture me to my prime, instead murdered me.

With mild sadistic ecstasy in his heart

he writes my last words.

“Yon Death, my love

With thou have I betrothed

Tho' I shalt parry with thee

Eternal battle to win thy love

Thou shalt once set me free”

“Yon Death, my love

To thee do I beg and beseech

Grant me my freedom

I shan't forsake thee

As my father hath, pray, me.

Have me into thy warm tomb

and nurture my lifeless self.”

The writing stops...

I realize I've been forsaken...again.

Like an incorrigible child,

I keep my hopes up,

waiting for the words to come.

But my trust decays slowly

and I lay...mute...and dead.