The Art of Dying
She rests in painful slumber
Drips with salty sweat
She is unaware of what it means—
Means to be sick with fear.
She chokes on spittle—spews up spittle
Chokes on angry, violent spittle.
Ignorant to the reality of her state—
She is leaving—sweetly, violently leaving.
Shaking uncontrollably in cold,
Sweating uncommonly in cold—
She is leaving—going… somewhere.
Tell me about it when I get there.
All is as it should be.
Her skin is calm. Her voice is calm.
Violent it came—now no remnant dare remain.
Happily, sweetly, brokenly, mournfully—
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