the angels | w2s

a

are you scared of death?

i am.

i always have been. since i was young. since my grandfather died. since my mum followed shortly after. it had always been us three.

three turned to me so quickly that it should have been easy to erase with liquor and lung cancer — i should've been able to smoke away my life and drink away the memories. i couldn't.

people who have died and come back to life speak of white lights and confusion and peace; they say it's fast and it's okay.

i died slowly. i died whilst i was still living. wilted like a rose until there was no petals, only thorns. and when dying actually came, the day i killed myself — today, if you will, though in this  quiet place time seems irrelevant — well, i died slowly then, too.

i refused white lights, i refused to be confused, i refused for it to be okay. i was scared of death and i wanted to take back control. and i did; it worked. if only for the minutes until i came here.

just me.

only i could die and still be alive. still be conscious. still be everything i ever was — just dead. and lonelier than ever.

is this what peace is? i don't feel calm. quite the opposite, really, i feel chaotic and sad and scared. just as scared as i promised myself i wouldn't be. just as scared as i feared i would be. just as scared as the possibility i tried to fix.

so, if not peace, is this hell? i did sin, after all, i sinned many times in my life. the last sin i ever committed was the last thing i ever did. thou shall not kill, right? but i never believed in any of that. and there's no big intimidating guy who's sprouting horns and painted red to match the colour of his victims blood.

there's just a whole lot of silence. a whole lot of lonely.

s'pose i'd better get used to it.