I am alive physically.
But have been dead inside for a while now.
I wonder what my last moments will be like.
I am sure there will be fear and a great relief.
No more failures.
All the decisions I'll ever make have been made.
No more procrastination.
No more loneliness or broken heart.
No more doubts.
Maybe the blood will slowly run out of me.
And I will suffer slowly.
I like Emily Dickinson's poem about the fly.
Maybe I'll see a fly when I die.
Will my life flash before my eyes?
Then maybe I'll remember finally where I put those keys.
Those memories of Florida in the camera washed away in the waves.
Those moments of childhood never captured on film.
No more worries about how everyone is doing.
No more guilt that I haven't called in forever.
No more guilt that I haven't been doing what I should've been.
No more fatigue.
Or worrying about my stupid misshapen body.
No more late night thoughts and regrets that eat away at me.
No more having to accept reality as it is even if I can't stomach it.
No more watching people love their lives normally.
No more wanting what they have.
No more feeling like my existence is a mistake.
This isn't a cry for help.
This isn't a suicide note.
I am a pussy.
I don't even have the balls or the backbone in this worthless pile of flesh my soul inhabits to find the will to end this consciousness.
I've stopped planning for the future long ago.
I count the days.
What is death when you have no future to lose?
Hypothetical success and happiness are a deal breaker?
Nobody, not even family can promise me that there is anything left but suffering.
But we all just stick around because we don't know what happens next.
Well, even considering the after life, be it good or bad.
LET THE MOTHERFUCKER COME.
I am sick to death of all these Christians, Muslims and whoever the hell wants to argue about it.
The Sunni, the Shiites, The Catholics, Orthodox, Protestants, Lutherans, "Non-denominationals" and all the cults.
Wanting to live the sweet life in Hollywood.
While trying to appreciate my own.
Not knowing which is better.
Hearing rich people whine about their problems.
Seeing the smiles on the faces of those who have nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Even if I die and my soul leaves this Earth, I have only ever lived in a page. My fondest memories were mostly from books.
The world is just a backstory full of plotholes and poor character development. And it's so loud, unhealthy, full of gluten, angry vegans, cancer and AIDS.
And there are sheep everywhere baaing to the same tune. And it hurts my ears. And the wolves that hunt them howl a deafening note that smarts the same.
And meanwhile the Illuminati and the Masons watch it all. It was their plan all along. Satan sits in his throne conducting the symphony.
But even he is a puppet with strings being pulled by a higher power that many worship.
And the Big Bang theory is just a conspiracy started by the flat-earthers who actually created the universe and the planet Earth.
But they warped and folded the flatness into a sphere so that we could see the gas light flashing. And I hear Pavlov's dog barking off in the distance.
Is that his ghost or did he finally croak and go to the great beyond? Do all dogs go to Heaven or maybe animals don't have souls.
But his life was full of meaning because he was chasing Schroedinger's cat. Who was chasing a lab rat. The rat who tested the makeup that Helen of Troy wore who sank 1000 ships.
But even the flea on the back of that rat had the black plague. And he danced around the rosy with a pocket full of posies. And the plague doctors sift through the ashes with their maskses.
Because they have come like the 4 Horsemen to collect the masses. The Rapture in 3D but with broken glasses. We cut class and it cut us back. And now we're flaccid.
The truth it burns the flesh like lye or acid. The sirens on the rocks they court us. But as I blink my last blink and death rattle