This Is How You Die

This is how you die.

First, you’re drunk. Then you remember that today is just a ghost that’s haunting you. It happened, and yesterday’s ghost won’t let you forget. Instead you learn that there will always be a struggle; you just survive by choosing whom to struggle with.

Eventually, you accept fear as noise. Nothing else. Hum your dread into silence. Drum your fingers to the beat of pain.

You convince yourself you know death, but death whispers otherwise. How do you pass away peacefully? Surrounded by friends and family? Or rather, choking dirt and bugs? Swallowing and spluttering water in your lungs?

What does it feel like to die?

Nothing. All is absent besides your hallowed heart. Nothing: the difference between smog and clean air. You cough, yeah, but otherwise – nothing. Just smoke and sound. It’s all so easy to blur out. Just subside the noises. Cover your ears and scream. Sleep in a dark closet. Give birth to ash and dust.

Pretend you’re drowning and that drowning is easy. Go on. Take a breath. Swallow it deep. Forget. Forget. Take your scars and move forward. Learn how to breathe on your own. It’s only water. We are all water.

What is water?

Learn how to breathe.
Again.
Again.

Go on.

Pick up your fear before you pick up your drink.

Go on.

This is how you die.