Murdered by Engineered culture and social conditioning

The death that I am.
The death that I WAS.

A horrid,
disgusting gaping hole
deep
into
muscle,
Fat,
and flesh.

So disturbing and unsettling,
making everyone wonder
and worry.

It just popped up in a text out of nowhere,
no warning,
no preamble.
Just BOOM—
here is my horrendous, forever-scarring wound in all its glory!

Things we can never unsee.
(How are they coming with that MenTaL Floss?)

Those little, unplanned-for things that actually
**** US.

Dad was blown up,
lost his left eye and more than three fingers.
Fireworks...

Benny fell off a ladder drunk,
lost his leg up to the knee.

MY buddy Jeff Settler
was Nez Perce Native American.
He was not greedy or selfish.
He was murdered with a hatchet
to the head,
by people he gave a job to—
who came back to rob him.

Covid killed Kevin.
Not by lungs.
He was homeless, and the bar that used to let him sit there had to close.
He was crossing the intersection and got crushed under a semi.

Growing old and being smart means you get to watch everyone you know and love die.
Especially,
and
of course,
YOUR
SELF.

I am ready.

The death that
I Am.
The death that I
was.