Sunday, May 4, 2014

dying, dying young, dying period
When I die will people wonder how?
Will people think differently?
I know that when people die I think, a lot.
Who was the last person they talked to?
Who was the last person they were thinking about?
What was the last song they heard, was it even by their favorite band?
What was the last thing they ate, was it their favorite meal made by mother dearest?
Did they die in their favorite outfit or did they think “I’ll be right back” and leave in what they slept in?
Did their car just stop working?
Did they piss someone off?
Were they thinking too much of someone that they drank to their fill?
Were they heartbroken and felt like they had nothing left so they took their own life because they weren’t good enough to be in someone else’s? 
I’m not scared to die
I’m scared of how and when and where it will happen.
It could happen at the prime of my life.
It could happen when I have nothing left.
It could happen when I finally fall in love.
It could happen in my sleep.
It could happen on my way to work.
It could happen any time.
'Women (In Mirror) by La Dispute' was playing in the background as I wrote this:
“There are moments here, only yours and mine. Tiny dots on an endless timeline…”

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