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.