Cut, break and bruise
this dream we passively cruise
living as if we've died
weave a web, pen a lie
crying, hurting, inflicting pain
embracing death elusive, and again
on goes this cycle, to feel
a pointless debacle; to heal
mend wounds, break more bones
ragged breaths, muffled moans
take a pistol to the head,
can't kill what's already dead.
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Artwork: "Dying Child" Oil on Canvass by Jac Saorsa
Music: I'm In Here [sia]
YOU ARE READING
Ars Moriendi
PoetryEmpty spaces, dark places, death has many faces. Ars Moriendi "The Art of Dying"
