death grip (in the works)

A Poem by Lily

as I was going through a very dark time and my great grandmother was slowly deteriorating from dementia, I grew increasingly petrified at the thought of death

there's something about being in the presence of a dying person that makes me feel uneasy, like death himself is hanging in the room waiting for the right moment to steal away his prize. I hang onto this world with the grip of a monster and when given the reminder that nothing is permanent I cower away in the shadows of the night and mask my terror with temporary things.
temporary.
everything is temporary. a bottle and an empty kiss can only keep me sane for so long and when my sanity fades into soberness I turn back to my tauntingly obsessive thoughts about death.
death.
death.
why can't I touch this world forever? why are my colorful sunsets and chilly Christmas mornings with my family so limited? why will I one day have to suffer through life without the tender touch and reassurance of my mother? or the strong and loving hold of my father? why won't god show his face just to tell me that everything will be okay when I take my last breath?
why won't god show his face?
this world is full of evil humans and deadly diseases and endless corruption, but it's also filled with laughs with your best friends, and cries of newborn babies, and the sound of your favorite song. this world is bad and good and it is all I know. and I refuse to leave.