The Strobe Lights

You know when your life flashes before your eyes?
And it becomes a slideshow?

Why don't the pictures just move like a film?
Or flow like the locks of a river?

And how come no one ever warns you how long it will take?
How long it will take to fully bleed out?

Who controls the strobe lights?
The ones that remind you of mistakes and failures?
Of prizes and wins, and when happiness seeped in?

What kind of dry death do you have?
When you spend hours regarding that slideshow?
Who is overseeing the recall of your life?