I’ve often wondered what would be my ultimate yet inevitable demise in life. My death is something which in short occasions seaps into my mind and I find myself thinking, how?

Will this mechanism of mush and blood decide on a random day to stop humming its drum? This disease was something I could never hide or avoid, my meeting with it was decided from the day I took my first breath, so I wonder, what are the possibilities of a sharp, sudden pain overcoming me with my right hand clinching the left side of my chest?

Or will it come from my exuberant and everlasting love for alcohol? Where one evening I find myself beyond the legal or sensible limits of intoxication and the bad decisions I frequently partake in catch up to me and the cells in my body wash their hands of reckless behavior and call it a day. Faintly drifting off into the darkness that has become a place of worship.

Maybe it’ll be violent. My temper elects to betray me, red is not only the bed I lay in motionless, but was the theme found in every vein decorating my neck as I swang fearlessly to get my point and feelings across flesh and bone, probably even teeth scattered on the floor or a metal slug that punctured the only hole I found to lead out of me.

Death, I know you lurk. I’m aware you’ve walked with me and often teased to dance eternally with me in bad situations and in moments I struggled to collect oxygen in my lungs whilst I dialed for an ambulance.
You crave me, and in some rare, very painful moments find myself craving you too. To find out what you what you have store for me; be the black hole of nothingness I’ve convinced myself is a comfortable setting or I’ll be standing in awe waiting to hear if I’ll be singing praises or screaming in horror and excruciating pain.
I’m not afraid of you.