Dancing upon my peripheral vision
Fear is instilled like a surgeon's incision
.
Darkness
.
Reflected a sign of despair
Enhancing by each sensation aware
.
Touched
.
So slight so gentle so subtle
Epidermis refusing to seek a rebuttal
.
Audible
.
Menacing footsteps approach
Determined and destined to simply encroach
.
Scent
.
Such as rotting wood decomposed
Fear in the air my location exposed
.
Departure
.
Overwhelmed, my actions defenseless
As slumber descends upon me so relentless
.
Startled
.
The visions quickly have scattered
Returned to a place in my mind that is shattered
About the Creator
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis4 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
This was unsettling! And that picture that accompanies it really set the tone. This is going to stay with me for a bit!