Holding Hands

I want to feel death when it comes.

I can feel it now, already on my body, waiting to come out.
And I know, the last exhale will be the most blissful experience there is to have.
A shallow breath.
Within it, my consciousness, my heart, my soul. I want to leave the way I came in. My mind blank. My head totally detoxed of all triviality.

If I catch death, on its way out, it will be holding hands with life, and the last thing I do will be to smile. For I know the only thing more forgiving than a fresh start is a welcomed end.

Cold

I could crush you so easily.
It would be so simple, like stepping on a bug.
But you are hardly a bug.
Maybe that's what makes it an accomplishment.
If I can fit a human being underneath my shoe, the possibilties are endless.
I am larger than life.

But you are my life.



Maybe that's why I want to do it so badly.