Who are you? These are not my words. These words were not written by me. This is not my voice. I am not embodied in this. This is you. This is what you said after we’d climbed the summit of the water droplet. We watched the birds stand. Speak: Open your eyes; why does he wait? This is not his choice. You open your eyes to these things. Where does that take you to? Reply: I can’t breathe. To remember and express from this, I’d have to dwell on this. I may perhaps need to experience for one last time such existence. Speak: I shall douse I with hymns and the self in praise. The arrogance of a flawed creature, this fundamental weakness I beseech to unravel the humility of a God that descends to be with the soul of a flawed creature. Reply: It is dusk and you watch. You know what is to be. You know what is coming. You, your companions, they do not torment. They do not terrify me. Speak: I am not who I used to be, you have changed me. You have made me free. You are amazing grace. Are you grace? Reply: There is no condescension or benevolence. I am not grace. And we watched as our old selves raged in the cage. We observed and we walked past. Speak: Why do you not run? Is it curiosity? Reply: For us death has become a choice. I am Macabre. Who are you?