Death. I wonder about it. Quite alot for my liking. It seems to me a beautiful thing at times and at times the cruelest mockery. Oh because why must you snatch mother from a baby? And why must a murderer still live? And I am no one to make decisions for anyone's life, I know, but why must death make decisions so reckless? What kind of peace does it offer when all I hear is howling cries of those left behind. What kind of beauty is in tears of an orphan, a mother losing her child, a lover lying dead in front of one's eyes? It gives peace to those gone, you say? Oh don't tell me the child shredded dead doesnt long his mother's embrace. And no I am no one to choose and thats the tragedy, is it not? I do not get to decide, and thats the tragedy, is it not? She just went on a walk, he was just doing his job, they had wanted to get married, their was a child on the way, what do you mean 'peace'? 'The world is rigged, oh its brutal, Thank god, they went away', their was a soul who wished to dance in rain with her lover, A soldier who wanted to hold his babygirl, A patient who wanted to Wake UP the next day, their was someone anticipating the light of the day, you chose to end it all by the night? And you call it 'better'? Why give life then restrain living? 'It makes you appreciate it more', How am I to have gratitude when I am standing in a funeral? Its winter, I baked cake for him, but he doesnt eat it. Its spring, I have picked flowers for her, but she doesnt take them. 'Its the truth', a twisted satisfaction of the gods. I wonder if it hurts them, it seems not.
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