Petra Novakova

Vita ante mortem
I have lived a thousand lives
None worth remembering
I have yet to feel alive
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To make peace with the darkness inside
one must first face the abyss
in the belly of the beast.
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The rotting corpse of the Albatross lies
on the other side of the silver-tongued coils
dead in the pitch black of the ocean
rest all its enemies yet no victors
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A graveyard of dead letters
Lonely stands the blue library

Layers of silver dust and specks of gold on the floor
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As the King of Shadows
welcomes me to his dominion
I feel disinclined to remain
by his side for all of eternity
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Last night I heard a bard weave tales of lands lost to time
And my heart ached with longing for such a glorious past.

He sang of the Queen of Hearts who held power over life:
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light the torch and hold it up high above your head
as you walk into the mouth of the cave without fear
but remember that the Gates to Hell open only once
to let the evil in and no one out that is the rule of fire
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Looking at my reflection in the mirror,
It is not my copy who gazes back but hers.
The woman from yesterday is a sinner.
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The way his lithe body thrusts forth and back
As beads of sweat make their way down his back.

Two bodies intertwined in pleasure
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an all-encompassing light
an all-consuming darkness
one and the same
forever inter-twined
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To drink from Strife's daughter is to lose yourself
In oblivion that is too sweet not to taste again
Only shadows of your memories shall remain.
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When once green leaves of all sizes
turn red and gold and dark brown
and one by one they all fall down
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In ancient lore, a tailed beast freely roamed the realms
The scaled King of chaos left thunder in its wake
Conquering the elements with a single clap of its wings
As aether, air, earth, fire, and water fell to the drake
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I dreamt of electric blue wings
encased in a glass snow globe
softly fluttering in starlight
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a black bear, sharp claws covered in dirt and fresh blood
broken, and yet, still so fiercely protective of her only cub
she lays down her heavy head while drawing one last breath
then the beast slowly succumbs to the sweet embrace of death
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When the mask falls away in a Freudian slip
and all that's left in its wake is a blank page
soulless, ageless, faceless, colorless, tasteless
like a small white sticky note covered in doodles
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