Death? And what do you know of death?
Death? What do you know about it?
Why do you think you can so openly talk to me about it
when you don't know what I think? How I feel?
My sister today brought to my attention pain, and death.
The pain my family feels, the pain my parents feel, and they're
getting older, my grandparents, they never lived past 65,
none of them. My parents, are a bit over 50. I have never
felt such a hard slap of reality across my face, never has
life pricked my eyes so harshly with it's needles of truth, and
injected large amounts furiously into my already aching head.
Infected is what I am now, infected with these thoughts of
how eighteen years have been wasted, wasted living.
Or existing I should say, I have existed in my own bubble of pain,
pain and desolation, it reverberates off the walls of my skull
and slaps me behind my eyes; blinding me every day.
I still feel it, and I feel more now the pain and dread of my family,
ever aching, ever dying. Death is inevitable, it is swift,
it bears no mercy, it sweeps in and dances quickly through your
body and with this dance it drains the last of your energy, your drive,
and you give to lifes final dance, you fall to your knees and break
while everyone helplessly tries to pull you up, but you're a dead-weight.
A dead broken shell and your soul has already fled. The most
beautiful part of you has fled from your bones. What I learned
about myself so long ago is it feels as if my soul has already
left me. I haven't cried in a long time, I have shed no tears,
no honest tears.
And today I did. I shed tears because of honesty, because my sister
truthfully dictated to me just how short the road of life is.
And I'm shattered, trying to pick myself up while wondering, is ten years
enough time to repair eighteen that I have wasted?