The Cancer that Feeds
The morning. To wake up and here the news. You lie there thinking. Reliving memories, thinking what you've lost, what has happened. You can't grasp it. The thought keeps strikes you, like the jab of a boxer, it keeps coming back until it eventually just becomes normal. Stamina developes in containing the thought.
The days come back, landmarks permanently paved onto your mind. Possesions start to fade. The day that motorhome was sold, the day... You still have some though. That blue vehicle sitting there, looking the same the day he left it. They are merely distractions though.
You stand there. A gentle breeze is blowing, trees whistling in the wind. The grass is perfectly cut, spreading across thousands of feet of space. It is all occupied though. You stand there, staring at a piece of stone. The final distraction, besides the dirt your standing on. A Granite block, sitting there surrounded by thousands of others. You stand there in a gaze, then turn around, heading back to your carridge.
Life's mystery, death. It can happen to anyone, at anytime, at any place, in any way. You don't see it coming, like a defensive linemen, breaking off the side of his blocker, slamming into the quarterback, without him even knowing. You think you can handle it but deep inside its impossible. A year seems like a decade. But it is a continuous chain. There is no fate, only one destiny, death...
