A symbolic flash of the agonies of a loss
He snuffed the finest from his snuff box, sniff snuff and tap tap tap, he tapped his head and brrrrrh bruuuu he shook his head. It took years for me to understand the earth is but a coffin, the coffin is but a snuff box in the hands of the soul reaper and the living are as snuffs to be pinched in bits and pints, away into the pitch black corners of the brains of forever, into the witness of darkness.
I saw him just last night, his throne bedecked with skulls and next to his regally black robe was a treasure trove with souls peeping and moaning through the keyholes of a lock with no keys.
I saw him bring out a small casket the size of a snuff box and pinched a part and then some and, with the back of his hand he brought a vacuum cleaner that sucked the part through the rills of his nose and it gave him a high and he laughed while I heard wails in the distant, in the houses where the salts were pinched.
I saw him restless and sad and displeased and he snuffed some more and some more. Each whiff, every drag, sniff sniff a star fizzles, a light goes out and darkness fills our hearts.
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