I never truly thought about death
Outside of the normal, vague way
That most people do.
To most people,
Death is an empty blackness
Surrounding the victim,
Covering their soul
And plunging them down
Into a deep, endless sleep.
To me,
Death is cold.
It is not a monster,
Nor is it a saint.
Instead,
Death is an indifferent creature
Simply doing his job;
The job that he was assigned
At the conception of the universe.
He does his job
Whether you like it
Or not.
If you accept him,
He simply wraps his icy arms
Tightly around you,
Absorbing every bit of your warmth.
Do you want to fight?
Don't.
He will pull you into the abyss
By your pale, vulnerable throat.
Sometimes,
People welcome death with open arms
But I wonder
What do people think
In that split second
After they pull that damn trigger?
Does time slow down
When they see that skeleton grin?
At that point in time,
You have to wonder
If they regret the irreversible decision
That they have just made.
At that point in time,
You have to wonder
If they tried to turn the gun away
In a last-ditch effort
To save their own, miserable life.
At that point in time,
You have to wonder
Why they chose
That specific moment
To be their last
Everything
Their last tears
Last thoughts
Last breath.
In loving memory of Chloe Fitton
I will never stop wondering why you left us.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryThis is just a slowly growing collections of the angsty, teenage poems that I write. I'm hoping that by posting this, I get some feedback and am able to look back at how much my style has matured.
