Seems like only yesterday I was spilling out my own blood
so I could be taken instead - trading places with the dead.
There is only the march of time that is a guarantee in this life
and we keep walking toward our own demise.
Mortality a truth bitter on my tongue
so much still to do but the time is not enough.
And though I do all I can to fill the empty space in my ribcage
I feel the other shoe is always waiting to drop -
forever terrified of loss.
Where is the joy I used to feel?
Death has been knocking at my door for decades
and I have never answered but he keeps letting himself in.
I can’t protect my heart when
I give a piece of myself to everyone I meet
and they take it with them when they leave.
I am a cracked shell of myself all exposed nerves and frayed wires
rotting alive in real time.
Cursed to watch the world crumble around us all
and the end is coming nearer with every rotation.
No snow on the ground again this time of year
Another year with record temperature highs
The last time I saw snow on Christmas
Was the morning I found out he died.
My ghost will still be around watching the stars
as they all burn out and the universe collapse within itself.
Everything disappears,
even the memories that you try so hard to keep.
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