Where the Dead Don't Die and the Lively Mock the Reaper

Do you feel the life drain?
The moment the moans reach their climax,
the air sucks into a bubble,
ricocheting from wall to wall as you stumble
back to your resting place
with a new bullet puncturing your heart.

Deep breaths now,
that's it...just breathe.
Take in the goose
the henny
the yak.
Yes that's it,
don't worry about the aching;
damn Irish always put their cuffs on too tightly.
The effects should wear-off come midday.

Don't lose it now
You're nearly at the verge;
right on the precipice.
What is agony?
Is that any different from happiness?
Content?
Sadness?
Despair?
Elation?
Bliss?
Anger?
Madness?
I know, I'm just making up words, aren't I?
There's no such thing as feeling.
Just life and death, eh?

Shhh now.
Crows croak
The dying moan
The lively sing.
You're neither animal nor dying
and your voice has sung all the lullaby from your soul.
Guess that puts you in the grey, huh?

Hm...and you thought life was black and white.

The End

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