Gouging out face-book posts,
the bodies line the sub-text –
streets. Unseen.
Deadheading graveside tokens,
the blood is sifted through eye-
lid epitaph filter to patriotic
blue. Blown into ash.
A man stands, shadowy, death
wannabe; Hitman Cosplay; fancy
-‘dress to kill’ attitude. Tips his
hat and either side of you
parts of you crumble.
You weep, maybe.
I am blessed with tunnel vision to
nullify this melting, my eyes are
sheened with apathetic venom.
Death, I do not fear you.