Janis, Jim, and Me

I shall die.
    This is not morbidity; it is fact.
I will not die for your sins or for mine.
I will die.
Not because of HOW I lived, but BECAUSE I lived.

Every living breath
A step closer to death
I won’t tell you no lie
I will think of you when I die
Your particular face
The way you ran your race

What is death?
    Many times, it is synonymous with the END
The “death of an idea”
The “death of his popularity”
But do we END? Do we STOP? CEASE? DISCONTINUE?
Are we only occupying this small space on a timeline?
This is “the strangest life I ever lived”     (—Jim Morrison)
If it ends after this, then what’s the f**king point?
But I’ll enjoy it till I get there
“I’ll get my kicks before the whole s**thouse comes down”     (—Jim again)

I’m not afraid that death inevitably comes
Just apprehensive about the changes
Styx is not a tiny river, dividing two landmasses
It is the ocean
And life is but a tiny island
Where the ghosts outnumber the living
That’s okay.
Soon,
    ghosts will be my friends.