Flight.

I’ll never smell lemons
the same way again.

I tell you
dying ain’t easy.
And having it take you by suprise
doesn’t make it any better.

Some manage it
with a slow trickling away
of life.
Sliding down the sleeves and out the cuffs.
Or maybe
Feeling its gentle journey down each leg, flooding shoes and boots alike,
scarletting socks.
It’s a slow release.

No such mess here.
No storm
signifying ‘madman’ness, all-over-the-shopness,
no series of screams.

Nothing so dramatic.
I am just cold.

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2 thoughts on “Flight.

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