The smell of blood begets fear in the soul of the faint hearted
Surgeons and butchers are immune souls to it’s stench.
Once, when I had drank my fill from the breast of dementia.
I flung wide the legs of fear and I raped her.
Now, if you know anything about Memories,
It is that, the glossy finish gets glossier every time.
Back to this hour of blood and fear in the air.
Whose blood is it? You ask.
Ask the butcher when he slits the throat of a bull
Or the surgeon as he clamps down vessels in your gut.
The gory details don’t matter at this hour.
Only the muddy red blood and the bile taste of fear
That is all that matters.
How dare you think about death?
Death will forever remain a mystery to you
Until you stare it down and live to tell a tale
The tale I assure you will get glossier
-each time you tell it.
For such is the curse of memories
But I assure you this,
There’s no insurance against death
For death is equal to nothingness
And life has a strong affinity to nothingness
So, fear not death though it means your end
You’ll only become a memory that gets glossier.
Ps: Memories fade away into nothingness.
Note: Apologies are in order, I admit I have not at all been faithful to this blog, though I’ve been writing, if you could call it that. Been getting some funny messages, on twitter especially in the last couple of weeks, people saying I don’t write, that I sacrificed my writing for twitter, tbh fam (I still don’t know what this means by the way) and all. You know what? I think Its hilarious, Iike that could ever happen.
Now the reason for my absence is quite simple, I’m working on something special with a few other people, when it all comes together I’ll let you know. I promise I’m not slacking, aswearrugad. Have a wonderful week ahead. shalom