The Mind

Sometimes I wonder how they failed to die Between Overdosing on kicks to their body Their stomach kicking up blood To the point where You tire of the taste of milky crimson iron Of the gun in the hands of someone who wasn’t ready To be the agent of The grim reaper. Probably because the cold metallic finger tips of the reaper’s bones Gently caressing their spinal cord While simultaneously viewing THE fear in someone else’s eyes The fear when someone legitimately believes their life will end The nervous reaction of sweating blood Because the water of the body will no longer suffice as an offering When time becomes timeless And in that timelessness Life is no longer about the trophies gained achievements achieved bragging rights street credibility business transactions beneficial white lies yearly bonuses and money itself will become a sacrifice for life Satan becomes a sacrifice to God While God sacrifices their life To the vast void Where the absence of dark matter Becomes white. It is the mind.