My Soul Hates My Death Bed
My stepmom has seven months.
My uncle has twelve months.
Cancer’s a bitch.
I assume my death bed’s as soft brick and as colorful as the images I use in these articles because I prefer to sleep on the floor and just recently got a bed because I want female visitors to believe I’m kinda normal, and my sheets are black and my blankets white because they pair like mini skirts and long, luscious legs.
One last important detail about my death bed…I don’t know when my body’s going to lay in that son of a bitch.
But when a date is set in stone and moments before my soul has packed its belongings prepared to fly from my body, I want to reminisce on my decisions — the good, the bad, the dangerous, and the difficult — and smirk — a smirk that would make the Devil envious — and feel peace fill the vacancy of my soul.
Many of us treat time like oxygen believing it’s abundant and immortal.
We spend days contemplating a decision that could’ve been made in seconds.
We spend years with our genitals on the fence.
We spend a lifetime being everyone but ourselves.
Eat donuts and burgers or the organic kale salad?
I want to live as long as possible with a six-pack.
Play video games or become a word-slinger?
Tough choice. Some of my fondest memories with my brother are of us playing video games till the sun woke. But I’d regret like hell not attempting to make a living tossing words around the internet.
Swipe right and spend the night with a touch-deprived stranger, or swipe left and spend the night alone reading, watching basketball and reality television?
Jesus, take the wheel.
These are my choices, not yours. Some of the people closest to me (who of which are perhaps happier than I) would choose shoveling a Mcdonald’s burger down their mouth while playing Call of Duty, ending the evening in a new bed.
There’s no guarantee the kale salad will have me breathing until I’m one hundred years old.
And the world may not give a damn what I have to say regardless of the hours I spend studying my craft.
But my soul is already fuming because he has to lay in a drab, rock-solid bed on its last night, so I figure I’d throw it a bone.
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