Thoughts of a dying soldier
Looking skyward, as I layed on asphalt, when I started to believe that I am dead. I looked at the day-break ablaze. It has lit all leaves which wanted to be, lit all ground which showed its grass, lit everything, even my fallen soul. My eyelids grew heavier, wanting to close.
Shun it, for there was more way to go and sleep could not climb this light. But what has to occur, can occur any moment from now.
I tried to take in as much air as I could, but my humble lungs were giving up slowly. With breath my chest felt heavier, but soul felt lighter. Like some twisted, sadistic dominatrix dropping metal balls on my ribs things became harder and harder.
I thought of everything that I had done in my life, the good things and the bad. I wanted to do more good but felt no remorse for the bad ones except only bitter hatred.
And this is why I'm lying here all alone, in the lonely twilighted garden close to hell. This is why I was not given any reasons.
Anger pulled me through, but that’s all it did.
As I lay here path of air way is slowly being blocked off, not from blood, not from a sadistic bitch that wants me dead, it's my own body, and I think of everything that I have done, and still feel no remorse.
Death would mean the last of my actions, may mean the conclusion of my hatred, may mean the remnant of my thoughts or would simply mean ceasing to exist.
I accept death as well as I could hand it out.