The Spark

My keyboard is dying.
Red battery warning light,
blinking and mocking me.
Get the words out quickly, it says.
Get them out now before I die,
and you can't say anything else.
I am your voice,
your muse,
your vessel.
Get the words out now, before I die.

I'm falling.
Beyond darkness,
beyond ropes and ladders and nets.
Beyond a hope of grasping at straws,
beyond hitting the ground and having this
heady rush suddenly, sickeningly halted.
I'm falling forever,
and there's no eluding this.
So I'll roll a smoke and stare out into the night.
And feel the wind rush upwards 'neath my face.

There's a way to revitalize all of this,
as shadows dance across our faces,
and our fingers intertwine.
There's a spark between the pair of us,
born of blood and bone and need,
and chemistry,
and all of those things that we couldn't ever say.
There's a spark and it grows as we touch.
It might lead to fire.
It might power me until the end of time
and all things are extinguished.
or it might flicker, fade and die.
But god, I feel alive.
Don't let go.

My keyboard is dying.