Persephone

For every death, there is a rebirth.

Mercury and Proserpina (1635) by Willem de Poorter

Her heart doesn’t beat with mine 
It’s one second out of time 
It pumps blood 
Unfamiliar with 
The taste of porcelain sinks
And does not know
The ache of heartbreak 

At my best
I am Persephone in the spring 
Flowers blooming at my feet 
Sun grazing bronze skin
But there is a knowing now
Of the stench of death
And the taste of overdose

But there’s a power there
Knowing the underworld
Like the back of my hand
Controlling the grasp of death
Man’s greatest conquest, mine
Life still blooming at my feet
Still grazing bronze skin

Her heart does not beat with mine
Not anymore
For I have traversed 
A path divergent to hers
Perhaps in another life
I might still be her
Perhaps deep down 
I am still her
In this life too