When It Comes

When it comes there will be no sifting slow like sand through an hourglass
No lapping of water upon the shore methodically, until the sweetness of death steals my breath
No.
No.
No.
No.
I won't let it.
If there be water, let it be icy tongues stabbing into the unadulterated marrow of my soul,
Death is such a wuss when it gets you at the toes, then at the liver, soon at lungs,
It makes its way around but it never goes straight for the fireworks,
Where the grenade is pulled and the pin swallowed
There will be no guessing, I won't let it
No procrastination, all fire and then nothing
When it comes it will be quick, and pretentious, and brave
Make a spectacle out of me
For I was born a show, I lived a show, and I will die a show.

-anna sluder

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