A Guide For Vanishing

I. Choose thy hour

Not noon, nor dusk, but the moment between—

When shadows yawn and light grows thin.

Twilight, child of sorrowed sky,

Will dress thy soul in grays that sigh.

II. Forsake thy name

Carve it deep in a tree’s wet bark,

Then walk away—do not look back.

For names are anchors, heavy things,

And ghosts wear none beneath their wings.

III. Dress in silence

Drape thy limbs in moth-bit thread,

Unfasten color, unlearn red.

Ink thy pulse with tones of night,

And hush thy breath to match its flight.

IV. Choose thy door

Not all are made of wood or brass.

A crack in thought. A mirror’s glass.

The hollow in a lover’s bed.

A well where once a secret bled.

V. Step through softly

Footfalls must not speak or plead—

The air resents a clumsy need.

Let absence lace thy every toe

As if thou tread on falling snow.

VI. Forget thy face

Hold no mirror to thy fate.

What thou were must dissipate.

Pluck thy image from the stream—

Let it ripple like a dream.

VII. Leave a whisper

One, and only one behind—

A breath, a thread, a trailing rhyme.

They may follow, if they dare,

But not all find thee... there.

VIII. Do not return

The world shall twist to make thee myth.

Old rooms reject, and kin grow stiff.

Return invites the curse of form,

And flesh, once claimed, must be reborn.

Thus, if thou seek to fade, decay,

To vanish whole from night or day—

Speak not farewell, nor offer prayer.

Just go.

Just go.

Just disappear.