About Death

Vintage Words


Everyone knew intimately, following

the excrutiating hard climb up from an

unexpected fall, that it was outside

force induced or self-caused; an

anger-awful act nothing foresaw or

owned enough power of will to avoid.


Time merely stretches out oddly

when a precious life ends; the way

moving into a new city suddenly

cancels hard built lifelong

familiar routines. There is no

fix, no cure for Death's arrival.


How does the mind weep with presences

gone, spaces emptied? It was assumed,

that there would always be a clue;

breathing and sweating, shedding

laughter or anger.


Knowing ending is Death's break-up;

the ultimate divorce, life becomes an

item taken, a soul-sized scar on

the walls of the heart. Add a bit

of acid damage to the memory, then

chip a stone for posterity.


Time is ally enventaually, but now

the mind bleeds. You want what refuses

and can not be wanted. Need is a

blistering burn for love not there.

Cold things can be replaced or, when

broken or taken, rationalized away.


Conversely, Death uses a forever

sharp blade that wounds then slices

open a familiar wound. Tears and their

salt make the wound sting, the pain

stays hard and intense until the heart

stops or the body shuts down

to rot.







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