moving forward

when i was younger, i used to be terrified of the people i loved dying. i would wake up shaking from nightmares of my family trapped in a house on fire, or being shot by angry, faceless men who broke glass and evoked terror with their words. death meant that people went away and didn't come back.
now i look back over nights i invited death into my bedroom; scoring crimson trails into my veins and choking down pill after pill after pill. dancing with death was a choice, not a twist of fate. a thrill and a terror all rolled into one.
i dream of the days when i didn't know that death was in every inhaled breath, every step one closer to the grave.

The End

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