Drowning, in the ocean of the black funeral procession. Clawing through satin coats and ties and gasping to reach the air. Flailing limbs and pounding hearts closing in and squeezing together so that the world is hidden by an impenetrable curtain of desperation. Like the devils angels brawling for a place in heaven we are of one enemy but not together, everyone the same but so focused on himself. As the grave stone looms beyond us we try to escape we collide and stumble, as the endless treadmill pulls us ever backwards just faster than we can sprint. Those around us keep going as we tumble into the cradle that will hold us forever. We are piled on to each other, but we are still alone.
The Definition of Life
October 15, 2011