It's this cold hand always in immediate proximity.
You could not dare call it a lifeline more like a life sentence.
You cough, you die, you have pain, you die, you drive, you die.
The constant fear of dying even though being dead itself is not what you fear.
You wake up with the Grim Reaper laying in bed beside you, like a toxic ex-lover.
It gives you constant panic attacks, so strong that your heart nearly stops pumping, you play into his cards.
It's not the fear of being dead it's the fear of not living enough that keeps you awake at 4 Am.
Leaving behind unspoken words.
Every time you drive home you tell your mom how much you love her, maybe it's the last time she will hear it from you.
So you try to leave something behind, your laugh, your art, your bad situated jokes.
Little pieces of you somebody can put together if they miss you.
You think so much about being dead that sometimes
you start to wonder how you even live by this.
But it keeps you hostage, occupies your mind, it's an illness, we are sick.
And I am afraid that this
will someday be our
death sentence...
YOU ARE READING
Before you Sleep
PoetryThis is a gift for you I want to invite you. Take a look inside my mind. Maybe it helps keeping your thoughts from running wild. Maybe ist shows you that we all break sometimes and that is fine. Maybe it gives you some sort of relieve before going t...
