Friday, December 16, 2005

It’s coming and frankly I’m scared to death of it. It connivingly hides in the darkness, in the stillness. It waits until forgotten about and then begins its attack. Its claws pierce flesh deeper than any knife; its bite more painful and long lasting than a broken heart. There is no place to hide, no place to seek refuge for it is not concerned with physical location and position. Timing is its most important element. For without time, it has no form of attack, no existence. It cares nothing about my life, my fear, my pain. Its sole purpose is to cut my legs out from under me and leave me to rot, to suffer, to die. It disguises itself as no one, yet as everyone. There is only one way to defeat it and that is with my death itself. While others have learned live with its presents even befriend it, I doubt I will ever be able to subdue such a creature. Someday I will conquer it I suppose, but until then The Birthday will forever be my fear, my haunting, my depression.

2 comments:

Andy said...

Yep, a quarter century. You've got one foot in the grave.

UB said...

Nice writing and thought development.