Gouging out face-book posts,

the bodies line the sub-text –

streets.                    Unseen.

Deadheading graveside tokens,

the blood is sifted through eye-

lid epitaph filter to patriotic

blue.             Blown into ash.

A man stands, shadowy, death

wannabe; Hitman Cosplay; fancy

-‘dress to kill’ attitude. Tips his

hat and either side of you

parts of you crumble.

You weep,                       maybe.

I am blessed with tunnel vision to

nullify this melting, my eyes are

sheened with apathetic venom.

 

Death, I do not fear you.