Death loves my people,
Or my people love death.
I can feel death creeping up on me,
Almost, holding my hand by sundown.
The soil here feels so familiar
And the worms lick me
As if I’m already theirs.
Yesterday, I found myself in night sweats again.
Wondering when my time will come.
I looked up at the fading stars
And saw every lost brother,
Every fallen sister.
I wish I didn’t see so many faces when I dream,
I wish so many of us had not fallen unjustly,
I wish I had the manual to my own temple,
And not another’s.
Someone out there has my instructions,
And is curled up in a ball praying for their own.
But the world won’t let us trade.
Because life is an evil place.
When one takes his last breath,
His eyes change.
His temperature and heart rate changes.
And since learning the statistics,
Every breath has been my last.
I can’t look at anything the same now.
Even rainbows look like hate.
Even summer feels like freezing,
And when I think I’m starting to love something,
I am reminded that these instructions
Are not mine.
I am reminded,
Day after day,
That who I was is who
Most think I should be,
And who I am now
Is not loved,
But rather regarded.