A fear of death met by a fear of living. Like a fever that you can't sweat till the f*cking grave. The way it takes my joy away. The way it makes my f*cking skin crawl. And it just gets worse, as if better were a choice. When I feel the creep of death, my body starts to burn. Silent. Unhappy. Distorted views of living. To bite the dust or sing a song of time? Resonate in my brain. Maybe when I die I can start to heal.