Life is never an equivalent to death. I
like to live as much as I hate —actually, fear— death.
I wonder, is it really hard the
experience of death? How does it go for a dying individual? Is it painful?
I wonder and think, think and wonder, often and frequently, and the thought —and, again, fear— of death barely leaves my mind. How I am going to end my life is the affair that occupies my brain, invading my neurons.
I wonder and think, think and wonder, often and frequently, and the thought —and, again, fear— of death barely leaves my mind. How I am going to end my life is the affair that occupies my brain, invading my neurons.
I cannot imagine myself living the
experience of death, with no light in my eyes, no sounds into my ears, no
breaths crossing into and out of my nose, and —most primarily— no beating heart
inside my chest.
I cannot imagine a hole in the ground that is designed to barely —and only— occupy me, with me being as silent as the grave I am put in.
I cannot imagine me being toothless when covered by mud and sand and being, later, eaten by the worms extruded from my decayed body as if they are punishing me for the faults I committed in my life.
I cannot imagine a hole in the ground that is designed to barely —and only— occupy me, with me being as silent as the grave I am put in.
I cannot imagine me being toothless when covered by mud and sand and being, later, eaten by the worms extruded from my decayed body as if they are punishing me for the faults I committed in my life.
I confess that I fear you, you the dark
knight that hide in the shadows, snatching, without discrimination, souls of
humanity every now and then. I feel my soul may be the next, and I am
afraid; rather, I am scared.
A last thought concerning death that
occurs to me herein and which, sarcastically, scares me to death is that: in
regard to death, either I witness your death or you witness mine...and what a
horrible idea!
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اكتب ما بدا لك، لكن...بضمير!