Cemeteries

  I stood at the edge of my reason, staring deep into the abyss of oblivion. It looks beautiful, the sparkle of a million stars reflected in the black mirror.
  I stood at the edge of my cemetery, blanketed in crimson leaves. I could hear the moans of a thousand dead rising on the wind that shook the trees and shook my soul.
   I stood at the edge of my life, watching it fly past on black gossamer wings, tipped in the blood of my broken soul. I could not breathe, because of the lack of air and could not see because of the lack of light. Darkness wrapped its arms about me and I was swept up in its arms.
   I stood at the edge of forever, praying that I wouldn't fall into the depths of oblivion. A girl, much like myself, stares back at me, her eyes blacker than black. I long to touch her, because she seems so much more lovely on the other side of a black mirror. I touch her face and I die a little, trying to reach her side of the glass.
   And now, I stand with her on her side and I long to return to the sun and those sparkling stars that no longer shine. Darkness is a friend, but he is never kind to those who resist. And I still hear the moan of a thousand dead riding the screams of the lonesome wind, as she whips through the naked trees of autumn.