Is death a cold embrace?
A frigid, barren country
From which no soul may
Cross its borders to escape.
Or is it a burning coil?
A searing fiery serpent
That wraps around you
As you bake
In the scorching sun of summer.
Or could it be a fang of atropine?
A toxic, piercing switchblade
That slices into your flesh and mind.
The cyanide teeth that bite into your blood
Or is it a grotesque plague?
To disfigure the mind
And body and legacy
To be twisted and maimed
Into a syphilitic leper?
Is death simply the time
Our bodies just break apart and stop?
Like a pocket watch
Hit with a hammer?
Or are we unwound—
Left behind to inevitably unravel
And stop functioning?