Death's been knocking on a lot of doors around me. Uninvited and despised, the Grim Reaper sets foot through those doors with no hesitation. My understanding of death has changed, now that I'm older. I feel the pain, the sorrow. Three deaths and a close call in the span of 5 months. I'd like to presume the Grim Reaper has a flourishing business. The stench of hospitals, I've grown accustomed to. Not the things I see, although. Certain patients and relatives resting on floors due to lack of accommodations, the look of terror and anticipation on the face of loved ones, the hustle of doctors and nurses and wailing of people who have loved and lost an important person in their life. Nor will I get used to watching the life get sucked out of a being. Their eyes rolling to the back of their head, gasping for breath, cold hands clutching the sheets in pain, a ghastly little show we're condemned to observe. But it is what it is and you cannot always glorify death. All you can let yourself think is that it was the last page of a novel with an ending they were destined to have.
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Encrypted Anthology #wattys2016
PoesíaI dabble with words and come up with poems. Sometimes they're not poems per se, but you get the gist right? Here are a couple I've written. I'm also entering this for The Wattys 2016. Would love your feedback, guys :D
