Ficly

Thinking About Death Again

Death,
my death,
anyone’s death,
is always sudden,
soon, it’s immediate,
how much more will I
bleed, ? can it already be
contained in a silo some
where, ? maybe in another
universe with that perfect
person I was always meant
to be with— she’s drinking it.

(There’s
only so
much
blood
to be
bled
before
I’m dead.)
It’s set.
This is
rhetorical,
horrible, eh,
whatever,
I don’t feel like
being clever

The sound of a basketball
dribbled
on carpet

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