This thing happened to me, now it's happening to you, sorry

[lydy]

Death eviscerates us.
Tangled secrets and partly digested aspirations
spill out into the air, and we stare
trying to read our futures in our own entrails
but are too distracted by the visceral reek of it all.
We are laid open, bared, gaping at a future
not of our making
and our future ummaking.

***

Yeah, don't let me poesy again, ok?