...

And we die
along with monarch butterflies,
and stray cats,
and dotted orchids
growing in your uncle's yard.



We die,
looking at each other
unabashed
as people
pass us by
like dejected clowns.



We die everyday
on countless trainrides
commuting on the edge
of our open graves,
humming a playlist
of familiar requiems.



We die
with pages and pages
of unpublished poems,
purchased tickets,
and a set of faded receipts;
rotting altogether in our ***** pockets,
waiting for salvation...

or none at all.



We smell of
formaldehyde,
sweat and lavender,
a perfume too strong
for the crowd.



We die
breathing;
staring at death
eye to eye,


never blinking,

and

never afraid.