Everything dies. From the ant you just stepped on to the chickens being slaughtered down the road. Everything dies. Everything dies. They say you’ll go on, live after. They have no proof. It’s probably lies. Desperate wanting. Everything dies. Everything dies. From your favorite TV show to your secret dream. One day they’ll send copies of our neurons to the cloud. But we’ll still be dead. Everything dies. Everything dies. Cities and forests, mountains and planets. The earth will die, as the sun, the universe and the multiverse. Everything dies. Everything dies. From your cat and dog to your grandpa and grandma. Graveyards fill up and crematoria smolder. Everything dies. Everything dies. From your mom and dad, to you. You will die. Everything dies, you too. Everything dies. Everything dies. Life eats life, and death, as ever, serves the drinks. To die, you have to live. You are alive, for now. But time dies too. Everything dies. Everything dies. The symbols we scratch, the people we love, the things we hate. It all goes still, unwound, silent. The rot and riot of life. Everything dies.
Farnilf P. is a member of a pseudonymous arts collective dedicated to world domination. An ephemeral art book of this work is forthcoming from PiNPRESS.online, and the author is in negotiations with Evil Portent Publishing for a children’s picture book edition.