Just This One More.

Another post before the hour ends. Let my friend melancholy take over this one. I have had very disturbing thoughts lately. First of death (as usual). Second of age. Third of life. Perhaps I should speak of them in the reverse order for then would it make more sense. Now this life, I see it as a tissue. You use it to wipe your nose or anything for that matter, before you dispose of it. But the world is such that tissues are meant to swipe the dirt of something. I want to keep my tissue aside and I would like to separate it's pieces. Then toss it above the winds and being them, watching them, then fly everywhere. Here's the catch, I have only one chance of letting the wind catch it, because if the pieces fall, they fall to a hundred times gravitational pull. Age, remontant toujours. Which is another hard to swallow fact for me. I woke up one morning realizing eleven months had passed since welcoming two thousand ten. How the fuck did I let slip the months. What happened to my awareness of time? I am nineteen, with it being remontant toujours, what am I to do? I'm scared to be honest. I expect and half hoping number one would come sooner. Death. I fear it, yet it intrigues me. Do we disappear into nonexistence? Do we then go to a 'good' or a 'bad' place? Or do we remain alive yet boxed up a flight? A colleague mentioned a movie to me, summarizing it to be a secret organization torturing people with nipple clamps and nails in the skull, all with one goal; to get a better view of what comes next. I feel so tempted to do same. I'm skeptical and I can't help myself to wonder what really does come next (sue and bite me you bitches with gasping jaws). People live their lives with everyday concerns of not knowing their meals, figuring fashion, drawing futures, but here's mine. Tissues, remontant toujours, and the end.