She was sorry for the dead and even more so for the living. The Day of the Living frightened her almost as much as she frightened Death hisself.

Is death your genre ?

He was so envious of her
she caressed death
and defeated the fatalism of life.

oh my singular woe.
why is there a flavor of yesterday in your death; in the waning of your mind, in the colorlessness of your smile.

She wasn't his death per se but she was a beautiful suicide

An infinite jest
too bad her god and his death could never be friends

So how was your death ?


We talked about it
and she agreed,
she won't be the death of me.

And finally,

even so you won't be my death