Poetic failure

four: greetings to death

do you think death is a nice person.

or maybe death was a nice person.

maybe death became tired of being hated and despised by people that don't fully understand it, that it finally gave up in trying to be polite.

what if death finally decided 'fuck it, let's give people a real reason to hate me.'

It makes sense because otherwise I believe death would give us a warning, a crash course, some form of significant last words to cling onto.

it could just be me.

maybe I'm the only who gets the moody side of death.

the antisocial side, the side that avoids sentimental words, or loving embraces with a small kiss goodbye.

I've escaped death's real wrath though. I've never had death shove it's whole being and existence in my face. I've only ever had the gentle whisper of sad songs in the distance, never truly a blatant red flashing sign glaring again my eyes.

sure I've sat in a room full of silence with the vicious sound of sobbing. and yes at one point I was the one hysterical, and although death has grasped at my heart and gripped it painfully tight. I genuinely believe I haven't truly experienced the worst of death yet.

and I pray to everything that can be prayed upon that I never face the fury that death can embody.

so yes

maybe death was nice.
maybe it still is.

maybe it gives us a brutal ending because it knows we need someone or thing to blame.

or maybe just maybe, it's being kind in its own poetically tragic way.

because what if living for all eternity is a much crueler fate than the end of our cycle and the beginning of death's.

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update
not that long ago I would've agreed with the whole
"I haven't truly experienced the worst of death yet"
but I now have and let me tell you it fucking sucks
how have I personally experienced the worst you ask?

well my dad did die not even a month ago. but hey maybe it could get worse maybe this is nothing.

something I highly doubt.

-🌱