The cold of death comes to us all
It takes us as we are
The worst part is not the pain, the cold, or the lack of breath
Simply the lack of a life of living
No reaction to stimulus
No foreshadowing a future
No feelings of emotion
No thoughts to yourself
No memories
No connection to a place in the world
There is no more
No nourishment
No love
No family
No friends
Nobody
No words to describe it
We become nothing again
As we were nothing before
Yet somewhere
Somewhere in the middle was our time
Our stories all end with Death
So it's the matter and how it's told
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