It's a horrible thing to watch somebody die.
It follows you, and
e
a
t
s away at the fibers of your being.
Staring the angel of death directly in the face and all you see is the reflection of someone you love so dearly,


slipping a
w
a
y
.

All you needed to do is reach out and take their hand, but

yours have been cut at the wrist.

You're useless. You've been useless. You'll remain

useless.

Here's that coffee you didn't ask for. It was paid for already, by the nice man down the bar, with the pristine white smile, who's going to kill you someday.