A handful afterlife (Darklines)

• I came across this image from one of followers on Twitter who tweeted how creative any viewers can be with writing a poem about the above image. I gave it a try but was stuck on where I was heading with it, but eventually came up with one and I hope you like it. Leave a comment if you feel the need too. Peace

 

An infinite onslaught of hands

Began to swarm and asphyxiate his every exclamation for help

His last meal smothered with an unfortunate deliverance of angry bitterness,

Every hand impairing his sight

While pulling back his thoughts from manifesting,

In the midst of the excruciating pain, the thought of his revenge lingered throughout

every bullet that were crafted by his enemies,

This would be the siren for his demise,

He began with a broken life but after getting

the taste of the fast life he had no intentions of slowing down

Until this very moment,

Attempting to desperately plea for why his life should be spared,

A handful impending afterlife that he perceived to be his judge, jury, and executioner,

Missed calls by his older sister filled his phones call log,

Unable to listen due to his ears

being plugged by the barrage of crawling fingers,

Fighting to withstand fading into oblivion

On the verge of flat lining into the crossroads,

As the hands of the surgeons release the tension of his dying thoughts

“Call it in” one of the trauma surgeons said, because the time has arrived

When the stench of death taints everything we do or say,