The Mind
Sometimes
I wonder how
they failed to die
Between
Overdosing
on kicks to their body
Their stomach
kicking up blood
To the point where
You tire
of the taste of
milky crimson iron
Of the gun
in the hands of someone who wasn’t ready
To be the agent of
The grim reaper.
Probably because
the cold
metallic
finger tips of the reaper’s bones
Gently caressing
their spinal cord
While
simultaneously
viewing THE fear
in someone else’s eyes
The fear when someone legitimately
believes
their life will end
The nervous reaction of
sweating blood
Because the water
of the body
will no longer suffice as an offering
When time
becomes timeless
And
in that timelessness
Life
is no longer about the trophies gained
achievements achieved
bragging rights
street credibility
business transactions
beneficial white lies
yearly bonuses
and money itself
will become a sacrifice for life
Satan
becomes a sacrifice to God
While
God sacrifices their life
To the vast void
Where the absence of dark matter
Becomes white.
It is
the mind.