#23 Pg 131

12/17/17

Every day I kill a part of myself.

I imagine standing on a somewhat busy street with a hectic road.

I stand on the sides watching cars - heavy-duty trucks drive by.

I imagine all the people in the world.

The immensity of the earth and the diversity of its inhabitants

I’ll never know even half of the people in this city (Kirksville, MO)

I think of everything (some) that makes me want to live

I then walk in the skin of the part of me that wishes to die out into the busy road

I imagine getting hit by a truck

(1/28/18)

Bleeding on the asphalt, lungs punctured by broken ribs, the smell of iron fills my nostrils, gradually I feel weightless, returning to the eternal source.

I take a step back, a couple more, and I go about my day. But I wonder, what happens when the part of me that wants to die is all that remains?