Epitaph

Ontologically speaking,

We’re all going to die. Some point. Some time. 

The incessant grapple of where and when, and how, and who(s)e?

The delusion of why

In a capsule all your own, you keep it at bay. 

You live, you breathe. 

You feign master }}}}

The sine wave thickens. 

A trick of the universe 

A prick down your spine 

Unfolding 

You scream quietly into your hospital linens 

I got mine.

I got mine. 

I got mine.