I'll get comfortable when I die.

I'll slouch back and prop up my feet when I go to that island no one can find. When I cross that river none can survive. In a hammock sipping chamomile and honey as the Reaper courts me his bride.

With chocolate kiss hearts. A box of pomegranate seeds. The nectar wine looks like blood to me. I choose to drink.

And like bride and groom cutting icing cloud skyscraper sweet sugar cake, satisfying each other, getting sloppy all over the face, on my wedding day I'll follow the white horse into the fog. And do something normal. Just like anyone would.

Predictable and normal and dependable and grounded and so so comfortably.... dead.

Until the day they let the ashes fly, let every moment come as a surprise. I will never know you, but it could take a life time to not find out.

0 comments Links to this post