Death comes easy and cheap.
Like a burst of cold air into your lungs,
that moment where breath stops.
Reaching frozen fingers around your heart
deafening the pulse.
Alone you die,
though fruitless searches for other ways
keep life occupied.
Children and love amount to nothing in death,
just something to cling to
while your eyes slowly shut.
Your body is not invincible,
your life immortal,
and while Acheron waits for us all
you have not the toll to cross.
The ferryman cares not for Earthly possession,
nor for your vain appearances.
One hundred years await your soul.
Death is cheap and easy.
What comes after
is the purpose of living.
