For us, death used to be a joke.
We'd pretend to be dead.
We'd make-believe it was glamorous;
It was desirable.
Back then, it was.
It was fun, it was interesting.
It was black and smoky
And tasted of coffee and cloves.
Our humdrum lives were spiced up
By the stories of our "friends",
The stories we ourselves lived with them.
We were wise to be cautious,
That life wasn't to be ours yet.
It reached out, yearning for us.
We let our guard down;
It reached again and snatched
You away from me.
I tried to pull you back,
But it wouldn't loosen its hold on you.
Every time I pulled, it pulled harder.
After a while it let up, thinking
You wouldn't escape;
But you began to sneak out.
Once you were nearly free from it,
It grabbed you from behind
And hurled you right into
The center of its dark chasm
From which none can escape
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