The Art of Dying

She rests in painful slumber

Drips with salty sweat

She is unaware of what it means—

Means to be sick with fear.

She chokes on spittle—spews up spittle

Chokes on angry, violent spittle.

Ignorant to the reality of her state—

She is leaving—sweetly, violently leaving.

Shaking uncontrollably in cold,

Sweating uncommonly in cold—

She is leaving—going… somewhere.

Tell me about it when I get there.

All is as it should be.

Her skin is calm. Her voice is calm.

Violent it came—now no remnant dare remain.

Gone,

Happily, sweetly, brokenly, mournfully—

Gone.