Death

An empty shell, a husk,

Rebooted back to manufacture’s specifications.

Glass, where soft lens used to be,

Pallid complexion, where there was once a smile.

Cold, where there was once warmth,

A soul departed.

To where, some question?

To nowhere, such vexation!

There must be something else, they bray?

No. That’s all. Icksnay.

Nix the next life hearsay.