Death after death. Some people death follows them. Not theirs but still theirs. It is like before they get up they are down again and before they have healed they have punctured a lung or broken a leg or said something wrong that takes them back to the beginning and no matter how much they hide or run away they are still dealing with the same issues.
I am still contemplating how one can suffer for years. How suffering becomes a part of someone. How it becomes one with their victim. How it becomes them, naming them and altering their DNAs.
Others are living such a perfect life, fighting meaningless demons but others cannot even name their demons because they are so scary, so deformed, so anguishing that any chance of happiness even from the sun casting its light on the parquet floor or the inebriation of the first glass of wine or just of a beautiful day, can be obliterated by the thought, the idea of this demon.
And so these people carry on, the demons of their fathers and mothers and the burdens of their lives and every christmas a tree of sadness is mounted but with a forced smile. And they continue to live their lives scared. Scared of being able to love and be loved in return because they know they carry the curse, the omen, the tragedy and the death that can inflict anyone who comes their path. And sometimes when someone manages to run away fast, to forget them in a manner that is hurtful they become sad of course because they know this sadness like a prayer, like a second skin, they can trace it with their fingers and know its trajectory and even detail its plan with vivid drawings.
So with this sadness they might cry or become insomniac. But deep inside they know that it is good. At least no one is going to be afflicted by death.