Well well well, death, you son of a bitch, you seem to have decided that my entire existence in this world is all about you. You, death, visiting me over and over, stealing away my two children, stealing away my husband, opening the door in my home and walking in without knocking first.
Let's start with my husband. You bastard, you took him away at 36 years old. And oh how dramatic you were, sweeping through his workplace like an atom bomb, throwing his body 300 feet through the air , searing his lungs with your flames, destroying the one person I loved so dearly, the one dream I had of growing old with someone. Wow, what a great job you did, taking away my 3 childrens' father, in an instant. It did not take long for them to suffer from this, they suffered all their lives.
But you did not stop there , did you. No, you took my children, you bastard. First my son Joey, at the tender age of 23. Then Michael at the age of 39. It's almost like you carried out your business carefully, decidedly, throughout my existence here, at the most opportune times to slowly kill my sanity, my dreams, my hopes, my loves.
You waited til I was old to kill the last child. You knew it would destroy me, as I had already faltered from Joey in 2006 , so you waited til 2019 to hurl the final blow.
Now I sit in disbelief. I sit in a coma of your making. I do everything to understand your relentless cruelty, and I am still standing in square one. Most of what I 'am' now is a shell, an empty vessel of nothingness, a ghost, really, wandering around pretending to be a solid avatar, existing blindly as you will soon enough come for me, and that will be when I actually WELCOME you to my home.
I was naive to think you would never visit me. You visit so many, but you made sure I would be your favorite punching bag. How many blows did it take for you to rip out my guts and heart, to empty me of all passion and hope. Was that your intent? Well, congratulations, I am no longer a harbinger of joy, or awe, or passion. No comedic utterings are formed in my mouth, my mouth is sand, it is dead. My answers and chosen words fall on deaf ears, I am alone and tired. Beyond tired, this undercurrent of sadness is so deep and it runs through my days and nights in this wasteland of a world.
You can visit me again, just make sure it is my body to take. You have already killed it, just finish the last of it off, please.
