people get so lost at this damn school.

 

there are 2500 students and only a cupful of care to go around.

Death isn't the popular cheerleader.

Death isn't the Valedictorian.

Death is not the  kid making up 28 attendance  schools to graduate.

Death is ranked number 430  in her class.

Death has never won a trophy.

Death is lonely but not necessarily alone.

Death gets C's on her report card and has a decent relationship with her family.

Death is average and Death is always there but no one wants to pay  attention  because

 

Death is blinding

and harsh

and real.

 

We cringe from real. Real makes  us hide under our beds with a plastic slingshot; it makes us cower and pray that if we can just keep  our eyes closed for long enough it will go away.

But Death doesn't go away even if you  squeeze your  eyes so tightly that the  black turns to red and you can feel the veins in  your eyes.

Death is omnipresent.

But Death is always ignored. 

Death leaves a trail.

 

Death opens her  mouth  but no one is around to listen because   everyone else is too busy with those parading about in their Grim Reaper  costumes-pretending to  understand but  never really knowing because they were gone the day we handed out the portions of care allotted to  this  school.

 

Death wants to  be acknowledged.

Maybe if we could pay attention to death before she strikes she would leave us alone.

 Death smears  her lips with  blood and asks-Am  I pretty yet?

Death has  never been accepted  but Death  doesn't understand because she never  pretended to be anything other than  what she is. She doesn't wear the beautiful  mask that Life does; drawing you in with the allure of perfection.

Death has  never made an empty promise unlike her boyfriend, Life. But Life and Death had a rough break up and now they're fighting over the children. Death is always taking them too early, forcing Life to buy tiny caskets and daisies because their  little girl never reached the fifth grade and daisies were always her favorite. But Life is playing the same dirty game, holding on with both hands far too long resulting in nothing but pain  and suffering  and deterioration. Nothing is worse than  getting caught in  the crossfire of your bickering parents.

 

So this is it.  

She is Death and she is coming.

This is Life and we are here.