Forever Tainted

I’ve been thinking about death all day long it seems. I vaguely recall a time in my life when I was obsessed with death. I thought about it constantly, perhaps I even longed for it. Today’s thoughts have been a stretch from those of the past. Today, my thoughts are more like morbid curiosity. I want to know how I’m going to die.

I wonder if it’ll be sudden, like a car crash which is probable since I have a heavy foot and a need for speed. I wonder if I’ll be murdered, and this small town I live in will have yet another story to whisper among neighbours about so-and-so’s sister. Or perhaps I’ll grow to be an old woman that knits, and complains about the water until she dies in her sleep. Maybe, I’ll be a victim of myself, and depression will eventually win, and I’ll slit my own wrists or swallow so many pills there is no turning back?

I’m not sure why I want to know. I just know the thoughts have been creeping in the back of my mind all day long. And what’s even more frustrating is I know that I’ll never actually know the answer. When I’m dead, I’m dead. I can’t look back and see how I went out. Until then, even the world’s most renowned psychic would have no certainty. It almost feels unfair.

I know for certain that I will die. In fact it’s the only certainty in my entire life. I just wish I knew how it’s going to happen.

...You're nothing that you claimed to be and I am every broken little thing I thought myself to be.

But who am I to talk? I'd pick up a broken bottle from the street just to give it one last throw and watch it shatter to a billion pieces, or pick the last petal off a dying flower too...