Shinigami of My Making

If I did it 

Would I be rid of him? 

Or would he stay? 

Under my fingernails, 

In my hair,

Between my thighs,

Caressing, bruising my skin.

The grave unable to hold 

My pain far too bold 

The smell of you around me

Water smashing the shores, it’s pounding! 

Imagining the cold still stone 

A tomb of harrowed pain you sowed. 

But if I did it you’d still stay, 

Awake in death your ego maintains.

If I did it 

I could never be rid of you.

You’d follow me home 

My shinigami the rest of my life. 

Haunting even the good days 

Despite being laid to rest

A living night, possessed.