I can feel something growing within me. Consuming me like a disease. My body; no longer do I feel invincible. My life is in decline: death only thwarted by my desire to feel its coming. Is this life what the religious call purgatory? Are my best days behind me? Only when I have suffered enough shall I be deemed worthy to see what is next. I often long to feel great pain, like that said to be experienced before death; but for fear I could not analyse it after prevents me from doing so. Tomorrow I think I shall explore this lump developing over my breast-plate. I pull and squeeze at it but nothing has come about. Tomorrow I shall expose it to something sharp. I feel proud to look back on some of my achievements in the field of home surgery!
I fear the horrors of life,
Yet I long to feel the blade of a knife,
Plunged through my skin,
To rest deep within,
If I then felt my life drain away,
Would I scream to the heavens and pray,
That it all be a dream and;
That my soul can but stay.
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