Room to die

I wondered if it mattered anymore. It didn�t mean anything to me, or did it? Life�s a bitch, everyone says that. What�s a bitch really? I wish I knew, too many definitions, too many people saying it and assuming they mean it correctly. Time passes too quickly; maybe I�ll find myself lying in bed without a pulse tomorrow morning. Or maybe even tonight.

So I was thinking, what did it matter if I just did myself and let it all out? I mean letting it all out. Every last drop of what sustains me, of what relieves me, of what relives me.

Of what chokes the life out of me.

Funny how these matters are all so much entwined till you can�t tell the beginning from the end. Tragic how you don�t know how and when it�s going to end. And sad how you know you could end it but you�re just afraid. Too afraid of disappearing forever. Sure people say people live forever in other�s memories. But to be frank, I don�t want to live forever that way. I want to live as in L I V E . I want to know that every fibre of my being has been satisfied, that every desire fanned into that glorious flame and that they�d never die.

That�s what I want. To never die.

What would you say to me? Define die?

And what would I do? Laugh? Oh yes I would laugh. Laugh at the bitterness that appeared. Laugh at the cool intelligence I have. Laugh at the voice I own which I believed at one point of time to be beautiful. Laugh at how I was born to live like this, with this insatiable need to know.

Why do I need to know? Why do I want to know what it�s like to never have had a mother? Why do I want a dad? Why wasn�t I born an only child? Why wasn�t everyone the same? Why was I different?!

These questions drive me mad. Yes insane!

No� they do more than that. They drive me into a corner, a place where I only watch and I�m not me. Maybe I even cease to exist for a moment or two. I imagine too many times when I have died.

When people say someone else lives on for eternity as long as someone remembers them, then it means that when no one thinks of me.. I am no longer there. No more. Just gone.

I wonder too much. Yea I do. I wish I didn�t. But I sure as hell do.

Then the why�s come back again. And they haunt me. Engulfing me again with wonder as to how I could actually have thoughts like these. Then eating me whole with the knowledge that I am troubled, cause I�d never ever know why I think of things like this, why some people just couldn�t care less. How could someone just live a life happy all the time? Why was I, no why am I this way? Chemical imbalances? Too screwed up, or just plain mad?

How could I live this way? Would I outgrow it?

How did I love someone so much that it hurt so bad? To know that you might never see each other or know his touch, his kiss, or even his smile?

How did someone die for a world which didn�t understand him? Or did they? Do I? I need more. I need too much.

I need too much.

And I need room to die.