The Art of Dying

Sun, 07/14/2013 - 05:30 -- Bodicca

She rests in painful slumber

Drips with salty sweat

She is unaware of what it means—

Means to be sick with fear.

She chokes on spittle—spews up spittle

Chokes on angry, violent spittle.

Ignorant to the reality of her state—

She is leaving—sweetly, violently leaving.

Shaking uncontrollably in cold,

Sweating uncommonly in cold—

She is leaving—going… somewhere.

Tell me about it when I get there.

All is as it should be.

Her skin is calm. Her voice is calm.

Violent it came—now no remnant dare remain.


Happily, sweetly, brokenly, mournfully—



Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741