Life has turned so quickly into death
and left its cobwebs dangling down.
All that's left of our baby
Is an empty space on the ultrasound.
My God, why do aches and pains
and hollow spaces in wombs exist?
Blood, like a desperate shop owner,
Continually reminds us of mortality,
Not-so-gently entreating its patrons,
"It's time to go. . .
5 minutes 'til close".
And that damn door
Is locked on the other side
All this striving,
Running into the wind
With deployed parachutes
Strapped to our backs.
We’ll probably never make it.
We're getting nowhere.
The dull soreness (much like a toothache)
Has become commonplace.
And forgetful minds
Retrace their steps
To the place where the living
And the dead all forget.
The place where the body
And soul linger on
In a dance just as smooth
As haze and sunlight at dawn.
We approach the edge
Then draw back our limbs.
And the earth stops spinning
For a moment, for a kiss.
So everyone must taste the lips of death
And live
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