In my mind I am an octopus, the colours of my body 

Changing as I sleep; the yellows of contentment,

The greys of the bleak worries, dyed in bleach.

The deep blue shades of peaceful slumber,

The frowning blacks as I refrain from speech.

I do not speak to the dead bodies anymore

I do not tell them to meet you, for they are gone

The ones you knew, the ones I love enough

For you to know. I only watch from afar

Ragged breaths lost mid-air, browned, rough.

Eight are the arms of the warrior goddess,

Eight are the paths, I hum to myself.

Thoughts unravel as I pick up the threads

Where they wind, sometimes entwined 

into eight tentacles of words left unsaid.

In the end it is easy to turn away, in the end

The purest smell is not of incense but the mixture

Of wood and flesh burning, scraps of ash taking wing.

I gaze beyond dark clouds that threaten to burst

And ask myself, how long is a piece of string?