Dead

>>>

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

>>>

All the seamonkeys started out dead. They lay in small pools of water collected on the kitchen floor. Gradually, a few of them began to kick and squirm. Then more came to life, and more, until almost all of them flopped about on the tile. In a burst of motion the water that they now swam in heaved together into a liquid blob, shot up off of the floor, and formed a solid glass container wrapped in telephone cord on the counter top. »Mom be careful!« a child's voice pleaded.

...............
Owner: »Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue ... what's, uh ... what's wrong with it?«

Customer: »I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!«

Owner: »No, no, 'e's uh ... he's resting.«

Customer: »Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.«

Owner: »No, no – he's not dead, he's – he's restin'! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, innit, ay? Beautiful plumage!«

Customer: »The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.«

Owner: »Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!«
...........and so on
excerpted from some transcript of Monty Python's Dead Parrot Sketch.

we awoke with the sunlight through your window. you had your arm reached across my stomach and your head nestled between my shoulder and my neck and you asked
'are you still tired'
and even though my eyes were shut
i answered with 'no' and we layed without talking.
later
you got up and handed me my clothing
and said 'it's like you're afraid to look at me' and i couldn't do anything but ask
'afraid to look at you?'
without meeting your gaze.

and i'm dead to you now.

Death is never dead and therefore is consumed by the desire to die. Death's desire to destroy itself is what eventually kills all of us, for we all stand on the periphery of death, looking in, which is not to say we are innocent bystanders; we could turn around if we wanted to and stare at something else, something unknown and as yet unnamed.