Death Without Dying

Death follows me today, not my own but it’s essence.

It lingers in the shattered and lost creatures, uprooted archaic bones, white crosses strone across the black rock laden beach.

All the while I watch the world pass by, ignoring -forcibly, like children with fingers in their ears- We are the victims of a deathless life; burdened by the shock of it’s impending arrival.

Our kindred souls remain unmourned, our jobs as the living unfulfilled. Half moulded we lay stagnant in our infancy.
try as I have I was never granted that that handicap. The world gifts me to death, as I will someday gift death back to it.

As it should be, remembered, grieved and respected.

This hurts.


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