Morbid fasicnation.
Thats the only way i could describe this feeling. These thoughts.
It reigned over me as futility controlled every thought processed in my cluttered mind.
Death. It wasnt that i wanted to end my live.
Or that i intended to succumb to a melodramatic act of rebellion.
It was a calming thought. It soothed me. Inspired me. I used it as a motivator. To press forward with my life as carefree as possible. To observe moments in solitude, to reflect when lost.
It was almost obscene to me that anybody could doubt this.
They could perhaps doubt my idea of death.
To me, i always thought i would be dressed in a beautiful gown. Something so uniqe that it was breath taking No pun intended .
The sheer material would float about my legs caressing them as water lapped against my listless arms, my hair cascading as a make shift halo spread beaneath my scalp like a fan, currents tugging at strands twisting them.
My eyes would be still, not darting to see what was lingering around the bend, my chest would rise and fall softly until eventually my last breath was spent.
There was no fear.
There was no pain.
To the artisitc eye it would be surreal art.
An act of beauty, an image to aspire too.
Atleast that was my idea.