In Memoriam
Sometimes when you make death a way of life, you become calloused to what it means. The event. The ritual. The sadness. I spend so much time in love with the macabre. I live life believing the body is a shell, there might be another plane of existence for the soul and memories are worth everything. As above, so below. But sometimes, death comes calling to your own.
But sometimes, you know that struggling, withered shell clinging to life.
But sometimes it's you who issayin