Mortality

Is death a cold embrace? A frigid, barren country From which no soul may Cross its borders to escape.

Or is it a burning coil? A searing fiery serpent That wraps around you As you bake In the scorching sun of summer.

Or could it be a fang of atropine? A toxic, piercing switchblade That slices into your flesh and mind. The cyanide teeth that bite into your blood

Or is it a grotesque plague? To disfigure the mind And body and legacy To be twisted and maimed Into a syphilitic leper?

Is death simply the time Our bodies just break apart and stop? Like a pocket watch Hit with a hammer? Or are we unwound— Left behind to inevitably unravel And stop functioning?