As I grow older,
As I see seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn to hours,
Hours multiply by twenty four and lead me to days,
Days turn to weeks and weeks to months,
Where months multiply by twelve and lead me to years,
As this circle of life starts and kisses back to its end, we don’t even know where it began,
This circle of life, which has taken my former self and transformed me into my present self,
This present being is the definition of the walking dead,
Yet some disagree and say this being is a survivor,
You ask a survivor of what?
The answer, a survivor of life, a survivor of all that has been endured,
And all that is endured.
These seconds do not pass into minutes with ease,
Each moment in this life, is lived as if a lifetime has passed,
Yet the moment of despair, of tragedy that looms around her does not pass,
It lingers, allowing every inch of my body to feel this sharp, edged and lasting pain,
As if a sharp knife is being driven through my heart,
And with each passing moment, the knife is manoeuvred a little further each time,
Each new pang of pain that is experienced can be likened to this knife being twisted to the side and pushed further,
Literally destroying my insides, as to having no point of return,
The coroner was asked cause of death,
As he stated natural causes,
A whisper escaped her soul,
Cause of death equalled Life, as someone once said, “Isn’t life always cause of death”.