She stumbled, a half-drug path, on the road
Death dripping from her mouth
Fear and madness in her blazing eyes
the light of a roaring
dying
fire behind them

and all were scared

huddled in houses, peering through windows at their terror, at their downfall
except one, who thought ‘isn’t this sad?’
and cried “Isn’t this cruel?”
“an animal doomed to die, body stolen to personify demise,
Isn’t that a tragedy?”

And wasn’t it?

Muscles pushed forward only by the necessity to spread, to infect
Pushed without care of a dying vessel
dried and cracking and mad
Nothing really left of her
Nothing really left for her
Except a blissful sleep

And the one who cried, who mourned Death itself
Who wished to cradle the unfortunate body in his arms
For a last, kind embrace
Instead aimed a shotgun towards it’s heart
And granted it rest