| Death Foretold |
My grandfather died a few days ago. It wasn’t a surprise, It wasn’t painful. He lived a very long life. He built and tore down. He was Buddha, He was Kali. I never knew him personally even though he raised me through my teen years.
I am tired of crying. I cry not because he is dead, but because we had always been dead.
I wish death would stop playing with me; plucking the people in front of me, blindsiding those behind me. Just do the deed, take me. Or is my lack of personal fear of you what keeps me here for your delight? To watch you pillage it all away.
Death, my longest and forever friend, I hope you are stripped. I pray you are raped and violated. I hope you have the pleasure of watching the jackals feast on the flesh and blood of your children.