Friday, May 28, 2010

At home in death...

The shadow of life, a parallel, a mere world, forever untouchable.

We but slip between realities, perceptions. I am not as stable as I seem.

Tomorrow not coming is an event for which we must always prepare, however consciously we do. A misstep or a sudden seizing up of once functioning organs could bring a close of the grand curtain.

I intend on lingering long after the physical form is dust. Let my shade hang about, a loiterer in forbidden lands. I'd be the cold in the dim room, the smell of old life that wanders past for a moment, or the blur in the occasional photo.

Die? Not soon I hope, though I've got my plans.

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