if to suffer for a dyeing man

"I'm not sure why it always goes downhill, Why broken cisterns never could stay filled...

And heaven knows, heaven knows, I tried to find a cure for all the pain,

Oh my Lord, to suffer like You do, It would be a lie to run away. "

-John Foreman

Last night I couldn't take the pain of death away.
Last night no drop of morphine could take the pain of death away.
Last night I believed in death.
I believed in hell.
I believed in relentless torment.
I was reminded of the desolation of life, in this flesh, and the pervasiveness of death.
"The grave is lazy, he takes our bodies slow"
It comes like an inescapable tsunami, a driving force of deterioration
Though he spends his entire existence running, never will he escape its abrasive path.

You can't labor for a pregnant woman
Neither can you suffer for a dyeing man

In the light of the terror of death, the uncertainty he's facing
I find myself only able to muster... one. single. blank. stare.

I am a horrible countenance, a cold hand I reach out to comfort,
Instead of soothing,

I merely inflict the memory of the treasured life that is quickly escaping
While I breathe deep, melting into the endless life within me
Icy nails dig deep in my palms pleading for one moment more,
or the cry to "just let me begin again"
But the vast vault is searching, and for this man, it will finally be the end to his striving