What a wonderful thing must it be to make rules to your own pleasure.
What a wonderful feeling must it be to come and go as you please.
How great must it feel to have no need to care for others’ breaking hearts or breaking bodies.
How powerful must you feel to have control over so many souls.
Not just the dead but the living who lie destroyed at your feet.
What a sight must it be from above.
Those of us down below could never fathom.
The irony, once we are up above we would never know to look down.
What a powerful texture; death.
Inevitable, loathed, despised entity.
You devour our loved ones without a thought or a care.
In the end, an odd reality; humans have texture too that does not despise or loathe death.
Death is inevitable. Death is irrelevant.
