And there I saw the soul pulled from the flesh.
It didn’t go easily. He held on to it.
Helpless, he tried to escape the path ahead.
He disappeared in the pain. Yes, it ate at him.
With the future certain, he visited the past.
He talked to the ghosts and traveled familiar lands.
Lost in time, lost in his mind.
He would surface for a moment before dissipating again.
The irregular pulse no longer rushed to reach his brain. It crept across his skin in a timid wave.
Each breath was a deathly moan, but another one would follow.
A hand of comfort. A hug of pity.
Nothing offered could help. Not even the morphine.
“Take me now. Tell your dad I want out.”
Over and over, those pleas went unheard. No divine consolation. No parting of the clouds.
And those who did listen found it hard to do. When you’ve heard such pain, it tends to scar you.
In the end, he could only suffer. In the end, it was the only thing he knew.
When I arrived that May night, the room was serene.
The light rested upon his pale, still skin. It was a relief.
The soul had departed. It had torn itself away.
There laid the body of a man that I loved. That was all that remained.
And let’s not let this mood go just yet: