Death is a part of a timeline

An ending of a life.

It may be an endless sleep you never see coming,

Or maybe it’s the complete opposite.

Running into a knife ten times,

And excessively bleeding

On the

Cold

White

Kitchen tiles.

Some are beaten to death,

Covered in

Scrapes and scratches,

With blue and purple bruises

Covering head to toe.

With your last words not be words at all,

But bloody cries and screams

From pain

And sorrow.

Others are brutally killed from stupidity,

From themselves and even others.

Cars crashing at an intersection,

Bones cracking

And air bags exploding out,

A concussion is the best thing to happen.

For others face death,

And the last thing they see

Are the headlights of the person who collided with them.

The blinding bright light

And the screeching tires,

Are the last things seen,

And the last things heard.