3800 days left to live.
A big number when you’re five or six
But looking over my past
3800 days
That number shrinks with the passing of age.
3800 days I’ve been surviving.
3800 days and
Not one wasted on a breath.
Not one did I wake up past eight AM and think
“Today I will be okay.”
“Today I don’t have to worry.”
“Today I can live for today.”
3800 days
Every moment must be utilized.
3800 days
Slip away like grains of sand.
3800 days
Building, building, building.
For what day will be my last?
For what day will I finally break and
Disappear?
For when will those
3800 days
Vaporize like dew?
“Don’t sell yourself short, girl,”
“You have so much life”
But the difference between life and death
Is razor thin,
Much thinner with every passing
Day.
It’s my fault if I’m cut short.
It’s my fault if I fail.
It’s my fault if I am not
3800 steps ahead of the reality.
Do not tell me to not mourn the days I lose
When I am already losing
Over half of what you have.
3800 days and the sun just set.
3800 days and midnight just passed.
3800 days
I’ve done so much
But for what
If I only have
3799 more days
To ensure it lasts?
About the Creator
Apollo SQ
Documenting existence as a queer person through poetry. I aspire to publish my work some day and become a professional writer so that I can tell our stories. 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi2 days ago in Fiction
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