is it internal youth or eternal youth?

i'm already too old inside, bogged down by responsibilities i never wanted, horrors of living for an extended period of time.

i've never wanted to live forever

i've never wanted to live as long as i have currently

i don't want to outlive those i love, althought i know i will have to

i would drink a fountain of knowledge

of love

of peace

of happiness

that's what i need abundance of

that's what i want overflowing

when the angel appears, i finally understand the concept of eldritch horror.

i don't know if they appear that way to everyone, but i'm enjoying the number of eyes on this being, the way they are simultaniously every color and no color, a being of complete light and complete dark. when i introduce myself, the noise that they make is less 'speech' and more 'deafening cry of the gods' and if i wasn't dead already, i think my brain leaking out of my ears would've killed me at this point.

the name that forms in my brain is kevin and i'm both really impressed and freaked out by this form of communication and incredibly amused. i repeat their name slowly, them grunted out an affirmation. if they know how i died they don't bring it up, or don't seem to care. i can't tell if i like that about kevin or not.

"are you taking me to hell?"

"why would you ask that?" the tone of the voice that appears in my head whenever kevin makes that godawful sound isn't really asking. their tone is flat, as if they already know the answer, and know why i know it. i don't answer their question.

kevin comforts me about my death as much as they can. i'm not truly distraught, and kevin seems to not be very good at comforting. i don't expect them to be. they're an angel, an all powerful being, and i'm....not.

"are you the angel of death?"

"i'm an angel of death. one of many." i nod, unsure how to continue this conversation. i'm one of millions of people who die every second. i'm sure kevin is used to this. i'm not sure what we're waiting for, but i'm sure once i know, i'll know.

"what comes next?"

"that's the question, isn't it?"

i suppose they're right.

so we wait.

at this point: i'm just confused

you feel almost tangible; like i keep chipping away slowly at armor, not knowing what's underneath. maybe it's nothing, but i don't think it is

see, i crave you

i want smokey breath against my teeth, strong hands in my hair, losing myself at the warmth on my fingertips.

we are orbiting, and i hope i'm magnetic enough, because

some days, i feel like i'm getting closer.

tearing away at chest piece (a text)

lancing at your helment (a touch)

i think i got a good blow in (you called me adorable, but i don't know what it really meant)

other days, i'm bringing a rose to a gunfight

the days i try my hardest, i get a smile, then

(you didn't save my number)

(you don't text me back)

(you call me buddy)

then nothing

do i love it more than the warmth? the thrill of the chase. the bite of the bullet.

how long can i tear apart metal? all i crave is the flesh that may or may not be there.

i don't know what's under the chainmail, i can only hope it's something worth feeling. as if any of this is worth feeling.

it's hard to fight when i'm disarmed by your smile.

the blue of your eyes. the trip of my own shoes, i'm self defeating. i know this is a fight i'm not going to win

if i ever wanted to win, i scoff

if there is anything to win, that is

but i think i'd be okay with winning nothing