Ramblings of Death

I like to believe that my last words would be a result of me looking back at my life and asking “Ok, what the f**k was that all about?” That is what I would like to believe. In reality, my last words will probably be me lying to some "loved one" about how it will be all ok. I’ll end up assuring them that I am not in pain when I really feel like God himself is stepping on either my lungs or my liver, whichever one takes me first. I guess the only thing I pray is that my last words are not me giving s****y advice to my kids that I totally made up on the spot and will never help then in any way, shape, form or fashion. I would roll over in my grave for all eternity to think that someone is speaking blasphemy on my name because my dying advice offered them no solace. That would be a damn shame.

As an alcoholic, a part-time drug addict, and an overall reckless person, I live my life in a way that causes these kinds of thoughts to constantly crawl across the space in my brain where rational thought should be. Sometimes I ask myself ‘what if I died right now? I mean right… now.’ What would my last thoughts be. I contemplate this sitting in a Starbucks as I watch some lady walk in. I would not call her fat because some stranger on the internet will tell me that I’m insensitive. What I will say is that she was well over her recommended body mass index. Literally, the second she crossed the threshold her mouth released a series of gasps and groans asking where her and her family would sit, proclaiming that she needed to rest. What if that was the last thing I remember hearing? That lady would continue to live her life with no regard that she stood feet away from what I believed to be the greatest artist alive. No one would mourn the loss of such a talent because his entire fan base was rotting in a casket. Oh, what a waste.