Tied to the sick, the sick tied to time.

The stone sound, my soul is grinding, one big crunch before your life’s departed. What you can’t bring, I will deliver, fast forward punching in the facial features. Each day becomes an uncharted river, the water boiling as you make your way. I hope on the heat of a burning sun, each day finds you crushed and gone.

Your blood, the liquor at its sweetest, poured over lips that chase receivers. His eyes, pierce the foul mood that you bring with you, we all had a laugh while your railing continued. A meager glance at the food around you, hands bound with the leather of a family’s fortune. Turn around; touch the tortured, the nourishment of vanity is trapped in porcelain.

Your friendship dropped into the abyss, everyone you know gathers at the precipice. Laughter follows your falling form; we all form a line to make water from scorn. Gravity grips your muscles and skin cells, every bone creaking from the guilt you weigh. A party of revelers from the rock face continues, some cheering louder as your screams diminish.

Good-bye, to the beast departed, we make with parody of your life and times. Caricature of your body and soul, the twisted and the sick made in death now seem divine. Children run around with your face cast in plaster, the apparition of your features now a masque macabre. Twist the skin of the one you're near, the momentary pain a memory of what to fear. Your life, a sad remembrance: a contribution of nothing but sick descendants.