the pills are white, pale blue

such soothing colors.

Why did nobody tell me:

death is not black, but a

palette. A pastel promise

of relief as you give up

each belief.

There is no turning back.

The decision is made.

Death's handmaid, you know

your art cold. The lockbox

combination. Guard it with

your life.

The day has not arrived.

You wait for some occassion.

A safe distance. No savior

in sight. The knight has fallen.

All you see now is death,

a horse charging at you, white.

White, white and furious.