Little pieces of me are falling off
I don’t feel….right; normal.
How old was I when someone told me that my life would end?
Would I have lived forever if I’d never heard of death?
I cannot run.
I cannot jump.
I can no longer surprise myself, except for the level of pain I’m able to endure and still function as a contributing member of society…
I am angry at God and I don’t care if he knows it.
I get scared when I miss the occasional breath.
Missed breath aside, I’m actually scared all of the time.
I drive by a cemetery. I pay it no mind.
I will be there soon, under a stone, beneath plastic plants.