Her identity has been stolen
by the shadow of death—
that oily cloud of slithering suffocation
loitering nearby Final Breaths,
Pathetic parasite desperate for the demise of some poor soul
so it can prey not on death’s victim, but its own,
Melancholy mucus that suffocates the mourner
overtaking her like a cloak of phlegm,
a lecherous, filmy sadness that she cannot medicate away
(try as she might)
Tainting her spirit forever, a warning stench creating fear in her acquaintances
for it makes them face their immortality and
their awkward inadequacies as they blurt out trite comforts,
Normalcy killer
Grief goggles she can never remove, dooming her to view life
through death—
It has seeped into her skin slowly,
it’s who she is.