The Death

The Death normally sits in the space between 

my clavicle and neck. 
A small hollow where it fits.
And I carry it there as if it is light. 

Sometimes it escapes and seeps down through my body.
Heavy
Heavy 
Heavy.
Smoke from the island,
Fog as in a dream.
Weighing me from head to toe.

"Why do you keep me so small?"
It whispers,
Reverberating under my skin. 
"Why don't you let me out?"
Teeth flashing, 
A bite within the smoke. 

I can hold it here,
Filled,
Cold,
Sharp,
For a while.
Until it is tired of living inside me. 
Constantly trying to seep out.

Then,
Oh so dark.
Do I fight it again?
I am so tired.
It has worn me down,
All these years.

Maybe, this time,
I will let the darkness spill out
Until I am nothing.
I am nothing.
Nothing
but cold.