Is This What Dying Tastes Like?

16/12/14-15:07

My life is quite like yours, effortlessly burning out by the second,

Your wisps of white wrap around throats and 

Choke.

But you satisfy the need for routine,

You're a source of gratification,

A substitution;

You replace the painkillers clenched in the fist of the helpless adolescent

And stop them from landing

Smack.

Purple faced down on the bathroom floor,

You're a familiar friend pressed between desperate lips,

You're a killer,

Yet still we ask ourselves:

Is this what dying tastes like?

We deeply submerge ourselves in vast utopian waters in the form of a dusty hardback,

And of course we'd rather drown in fiction, in alluring fantasy,

Our toes tickled by the sandy sea bed of functionality,

Because as soon as we resurface, suck the air into our damned lungs, our tongues worm in disgust,

Salivate after sorry salivate we will reality away but it lingers

And still we ask ourselves:

Is this what dying tastes like?

And as if it isn't apparent already that we have corrupted the fine and intricate fabrics that form the universe around us -

We are all too aware of the harmonious buzz of ticking, talking and time running out,

We suffer from an addiction called temporary satisfaction,

We all thrive off it like oxygen never even existed -

Yet still we ask ourselves:

Is this what dying tastes like?