Death

We see a mist over the horizons and infatuate ourselves with the sun. We contemplate, implore, and discard the inevitable arrival of the storm. Death is coming- turn away. Overwhelmed with minute bliss, we're bombarded by chaos. Death is rearing. Vicious cycles mutate our worlds. Courses change, cycles do not. The infinite sanctuary we held onto is lost.
Stuck in a fog and the bright lights make it worse.
Millions of years and we feel the same. Mass genocide is a whimper and warfare is inevitable. Lose a child, a sibling, a parent, a friend, and it's a catastrophe. It doesn't matter whether it was someone you met briefly, someone that was close to an acquaintance, or someone cherished. Death feels the same.
Your reality, your life, your dream- it's awake now. You've been shaken. Discord sets in. Numbness takes over. Auto Pilot kicks in. It's a hypothetical nightmare- turned real. Run? Cry? Sleep? Drink another glass of wine?
Death doesn't feel the same. I want solitude in my chaos. There was a mist over the horizon. It came. It horrified my nightmares. It was mine. It was real and I wanted it to be a fiction of my existence. Death, yes, thank you for reminding me that I am, in fact, human.