Cemetery Thoughts

This is just something I wrote while in a cemetery.

I think dying is when you miss a step. Your heart stops and you forget everything, just for that split second and your foot is searching for a place to belong. Except that death removes all thoughts, all sense of anything.

Your soul is the one looking for a place to belong. Then you find yourself surrounded by ivy and hungry crows looking to crawl all over you. Still, your heart hasn't caught up you. You're still searching.

Even when the bullets come. Erasing your tombstone with their selfish grace. You hear them, but it makes no impact on your thoughtless thoughts. You look out at the sunset, its beauty unbecoming on your grave.

What is beauty, or bullets, or ivy? It's all just nothing; nothing until your breath catches up with you and you find your step. Nothing until your foots hits the concrete stairway leading to your grave.