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?