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.