Vacuous the persona begotten by life among the living.
Adrenaline’s bled dry in the melee incessant to survive.
Little blue bad-actors, you are now on stand-by.
Limping patterns of someone else’s swing and sway.
Suppressing wounds from missteps until the end of days.
Dragging bloodied feet as slowly, slowly the seasons turn
toward autumn’s venerable hour.
Queued up now to join the stoic cast of Marbletown.
Decked out in Sunday’s best, supine in a silken box
shaded for a final rest by wavering cherry blossoms,
clinging much like the despondent to a fading memory.
Falling, falling… now must join the fallen dead.