death is quite the beauty, is she not?
in choked desolation, we yearn her
a lovely coquette to our misery
until she closes in to the innocent
and becomes an object of our scorn

so, we boycott her dreadful existence
cursing when she calls out our name
for life who we cherish so fondly
but for death we do not do the same
letting her drown in a reservoir of loathe

if death was ever personified
she would live her life a social pariah
as the world tries to nullify her worth
tainting her dignity with pure disdain
in such dolour, even she yearns herself