November 2, 2014
there are 2500 students and only a cupful of care to go around
Death isn't the popular cheerleader.
Death isn't the Valedictorian.
Death is not the kid making up 28 attendance schools to graduate.
Death has never won a trophy.
Death is lonely but not necessarily alone.
Death gets C's on her report card and has a decent relationship with her family.
Death is average and Death is always there but no one wants to pay attention because
Death is blinding
and harsh
and real.
We cringe from real. Real makes us hide under our beds with a plastic slingshot; it makes us cower
and pray that if we can just keep our eyes closed for long enough it will go away.
But Death doesn't go away even if you squeeze your eyes so tightly that the black turns to red
and you can feel the veins in your eyes.
Death is omnipresent.
But Death is always ignored.
Death leaves a trail.
Death opens her mouth but no one is around to listen because everyone else is too busy with
those parading about in their Grim Reaper costumes-pretending to understand but never really
knowing because they were gone the day we handed out the portions of care allotted to this
school.
Death wants to be acknowledged.
Maybe if we could pay attention to death before she strikes she would leave us alone.
Death smears her lips with blood and asks-Am I pretty yet?
Death has never been accepted but Death doesn't understand because she never pretended to be
anything other than what she is. She doesn't wear the beautiful mask that Life does; drawing you
in with he allure of perfection.
Death has never made an empty promise unlike her boyfriend, Life. But Life and Death had a
rough break up and now they're fighting over the children. Death is always taking them too early,
forcing Life to buy tiny caskets and daisies because their little girl never reached the fifth grade
and daises were always her favorite. But life is playing the same dirty game, holding on with both
hands far too long resulting in nothing but pain and suffering and deterioration. Nothing is worse
than getting caught in the crossfire of your bickering parents.
So this is it.
She is Death and she is coming.
This is Life and we are here.
We cringe from real. Real makes us hide under our beds with a plastic slingshot; it makes us cower
and pray that if we can just keep our eyes closed for long enough it will go away.
But Death doesn't go away even if you squeeze your eyes so tightly that the black turns to red
and you can feel the veins in your eyes.
Death is omnipresent.
But Death is always ignored.
Death leaves a trail.
Death opens her mouth but no one is around to listen because everyone else is too busy with
those parading about in their Grim Reaper costumes-pretending to understand but never really
knowing because they were gone the day we handed out the portions of care allotted to this
school.
Death wants to be acknowledged.
Maybe if we could pay attention to death before she strikes she would leave us alone.
Death smears her lips with blood and asks-Am I pretty yet?
Death has never been accepted but Death doesn't understand because she never pretended to be
anything other than what she is. She doesn't wear the beautiful mask that Life does; drawing you
in with he allure of perfection.
Death has never made an empty promise unlike her boyfriend, Life. But Life and Death had a
rough break up and now they're fighting over the children. Death is always taking them too early,
forcing Life to buy tiny caskets and daisies because their little girl never reached the fifth grade
and daises were always her favorite. But life is playing the same dirty game, holding on with both
hands far too long resulting in nothing but pain and suffering and deterioration. Nothing is worse
than getting caught in the crossfire of your bickering parents.
So this is it.
She is Death and she is coming.
This is Life and we are here.
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