Death is ringing the doorbell. It’s begging me to come near. I wish that I could shut it out and at the same time, have him show me that there is nothing left to fear.
Death is standing on my doorstep. It invites me out to play. I want to go but I can’t- I have a life to live; I have to stay.
Death is unlocking my door. I can hear it turn the knob. The door creaks and I can smell the rotting flesh. I start to vomit but nothing comes to and I just start to sob.
Death is in my foyer telling me to get my things. It says I will be happier if I just come live with him.
Death is waiting. It’s waiting for me to grab that bottle and he is sitting in the kitchen. I offer him a cup of tea and he sits there waiting for me.
Death and I are talking- his face is empty and his eyes are black. I have to look away before he can attack.
Death is waiting. His scythe in his hand, whispering, ‘come to me.’
‘I cannot,’ I say and he starts to look away.
Death’s empty eyes stare into my soul, he knows how I think and he knows what no one else knows. He hands me a bottle and a glass of water and says all you have to do is swallow.
‘I have hurt too many people I say. This is not the day. I need to walk away.’
Death turns and looks at me, his bones showing through his cloak, ‘you turned me away today but I know I will be back. You are not strong enough,’ he says.
I know he may be right because it is self control that I lack. I need to step up and I need to step out. I need to get rid of these thoughts. Not today death; you must go.
I have a life to live for and just because I’m down doesn’t mean I can be out. Leave me be, let me go and let me be me.
Until next time,
I’m still trying to live because I love my husband and kids.