Death is but a postponement of love

“life is but a postponement of defeat,” he said

and he died. 

gloriously melancholic

beautifully violent

and hollow..

what was it? his italicized sparks? his smolders?

It feels like I have been postponing love

in his after-death

it was his melancholy that left me with this addiction to the crackling sound of death 

my habitual defeat in this overrated loop fantasy of life

and I cowardly resurrecting his words 

craving for his edible sadness 

that my biles would fiercely mimic

to comfortably relive deaths before love

over and repeat

and I cannot stop, 

I cannot stop

beasts in captive, i am, we are

proud, arrogant, longing and yet none

we shall not apologize for refusal of defeat, I said

if life the utmost evil liberation that time ever gave birth to

is death a desperate love for life captivity?

immortality sentence 

deathlessness uprising

our hopeful separations war

to escape one’s being or one's defeat