dying is an art, believe me.
it can be passive, it can be quiet.
it can be national news, it can be anonymous.
it can be routine and in doses,
for all you know, it may be cheerful and not morbid.
you also have everyday dying,
where a lil' part of you ceases in various forms.
a small part of you gets bored and corroded
another part of your thoughts gets used to things and patterns,
habits and likewise.
like today, something died
the fairytale reality just took a U-turn
sensibilities and attitudes change
in the name of accommodation
many become martyrs.
my belief shook a lil, my fears a lil exposed
close ones go and those living live on
you choke on your own tears
a lil worried to share what i feel
lest, i am judged
so, dying becomes easy and
you die in a crowd or on a hill top
you die alone, and misunderstood
like i care to explain why i die.