I know of people, who were given death sentences.
They knew their dates were up. Their days numbered. They have few days or months or years to live before they'll be put to death either in hospitals or prisons!
What will be going through their minds? What will be their last wishes: a last look, a final glimpse, the last meal, final love?!
Days pass by through mundane activities amidst: Work or rest, jailers or doctors, sentries or nurses, high walls or low beds. As days go by, visitors come and go. They talk for a bit. Share outside news. Talk about family, if any. Talk about weather and sons and such grown-up wishes alike!
Nights never pass by. Dreams clash with REM sleep. Insomnia and hallucinations play hide and seek while they watch. Scared. Relentlessly scared. Itching for time-travel to turn back the hands of time. To stop state-sponsored murder or death by disease or delay thereof.
This much remains. The cold window of his cell or ward. Slurs spoken over walkie-talkies or life-supporting machines...
Lives extinguished or taken away by the hands of crime or the wheels of fate.
But, I don't know of anyone, who's been given a similar death sentence in love. His date is up. His days numbered. He has just two more years before he ends up alone both in love and on the bed.
What will be going through his mind? What will be his last wish? Can he even wish for anything, which was remotely his once upon a time? Like two enchanted snails made of clay?
Days chug along like a freight train carrying others' baggage through mundane activities amidst: Work or rest, Netflix or Prime, movies or books, huge halls or small bedrooms. As days go by, visitors come and go. They talk for a bit. Share outside news. Talk about family, if any. Talk about weather and sons and such grown-up wishes alike!
Nights never pass by. Dreams clash with REM sleep. Insomnia and hallucinations play hide and seek. Scared. Relentlessly scared. Itching for time-travel to turn back the hands of time. To stop love-induced death or coma thereof.
This much remains. He realizes that they too, like him, were two enchanted snails made of clay...
Molded by the hands of fate over the wheel of time.
They knew their dates were up. Their days numbered. They have few days or months or years to live before they'll be put to death either in hospitals or prisons!
What will be going through their minds? What will be their last wishes: a last look, a final glimpse, the last meal, final love?!
Days pass by through mundane activities amidst: Work or rest, jailers or doctors, sentries or nurses, high walls or low beds. As days go by, visitors come and go. They talk for a bit. Share outside news. Talk about family, if any. Talk about weather and sons and such grown-up wishes alike!
Nights never pass by. Dreams clash with REM sleep. Insomnia and hallucinations play hide and seek while they watch. Scared. Relentlessly scared. Itching for time-travel to turn back the hands of time. To stop state-sponsored murder or death by disease or delay thereof.
This much remains. The cold window of his cell or ward. Slurs spoken over walkie-talkies or life-supporting machines...
Lives extinguished or taken away by the hands of crime or the wheels of fate.
But, I don't know of anyone, who's been given a similar death sentence in love. His date is up. His days numbered. He has just two more years before he ends up alone both in love and on the bed.
What will be going through his mind? What will be his last wish? Can he even wish for anything, which was remotely his once upon a time? Like two enchanted snails made of clay?
Days chug along like a freight train carrying others' baggage through mundane activities amidst: Work or rest, Netflix or Prime, movies or books, huge halls or small bedrooms. As days go by, visitors come and go. They talk for a bit. Share outside news. Talk about family, if any. Talk about weather and sons and such grown-up wishes alike!
Nights never pass by. Dreams clash with REM sleep. Insomnia and hallucinations play hide and seek. Scared. Relentlessly scared. Itching for time-travel to turn back the hands of time. To stop love-induced death or coma thereof.
This much remains. He realizes that they too, like him, were two enchanted snails made of clay...
Molded by the hands of fate over the wheel of time.
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