...a deathly serenade...

the death of Leila concludes my observations: I
see heaven as simply a conversation postponed,
but realise that I don’t want to talk! As if riding
coattails the existential abyss consumes me: I have
nothing to wait for, the anticipation is more than
the sum of its parts, I realise this. It’s apparent,
yes, it will occur, yes, it needs to be this way, yes,
the sun will soon disappear but again reappear,
yes, I know. I have observed. Therefore, my
suicide is an ode to my desire to be with The
Eagle, and its note is Vanity. Key, which I now
rename, Vanity. Key — Love & War in memory of
us, the spirit I can’t denounce as if The Professor,
yes! This writing is my epigraph, yes…It’s clear
that there is a reason for all? All is nothing? Death
to nothing!
“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and
poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” —
Leonardo da Vinci
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