I have a tattoo of the grim reaper
On my left arm
Though I have not journeyed with him
I feel we are close friends
I have spent many a night
Begging for him to collect me and
Hold me in his arms like a long-lost sibling
He has not indulged me
For better or for worse
He has instead visited me on nights
That I have fallen into a sleep so deep
It is as if I am sinking underwater
He tells me tales of others like me
Who after facing his bittersweet rejection
Have cradled just a slither of hope
And nurtured it, embraced it and
Nourished it
As if it were a tiny human
Allowing it to grow, mature and blossom
Until it nestled itself
Into the darkest corners of the beggar’s mind
Screaming at the highest decibel
Each time they pleaded with the reaper
Until eventually
They ceased imploring
Knowing the reaper would knock gently
When it was time to go
Hope, is no small thing
He declared, preparing to leave
I nod and begrudgingly agree
Hope has always lingered on the peripheries of my mind
It is time to become truly acquainted
Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash
