The smoke flees from my lung
like my soul.
The clock no longer ticks,
I have fallen into a dream.
I can see her at last.
The angel has died.
I can no longer distinguish
between illusion and reality.
She is missing from both.
There is no proof that she still exists.
I can see her face in the smoke.
And feel her kisses in my lung.
It hurts so much when she dances.
I wanted to keep her next to my heart,
in my lung.
This was Mephisto’s advice.
She is destroying me, she is trying to kill me.
She has taken shape in me as lung cancer.
This is the last gift.
A date with death.