Personal Narrative-Tough Cough

Every night I lay in my bed, I have all these thoughts that swirl in my head. Of a complex set of fictional events that eventually lead to my utterly tragic death.

And from there?.. I cry. Not simply because I died but the details behind the situation. Of all the unaccomplished aspiration, and the feelings of desperation, frustration, purity in my favorite emotional castration.

I put myself in my own fictional shoes. Not because
I am emotional. Not because I am plagued by sloth.
But because this is something I choose for my personal sanity. Or insanity if that 's what you wish to call it.

I will call it a defense mechanism. An emotional shield
I build out of tears rolling down the cold corps of possible inevitability.

Some may find all

I 'm coughing now. **Cough Cough Cough!** My emotional lungs already black from the burning of any possible regret.

So if this day comes of my tragic, "She was much to young" demise. I can look at it with cold emotionless eyes and say "It 's okay mom.. It 's okay dad.." Truth is I have seen it all before. I consider myself lucky as I 'm not coughing up blood on the floor. Or holding my unrequited love in my arms, hands painted red staring down the cold black abyss of my own deaths door.

In fact I 'm pretty grateful. That my hugs can be from the people I love. Like a sweet serenade in stead of being buried in trenches sharing my last embrace with an unwelcoming foreign blade. Because the way that it kisses my flesh.. I 'm crawling, shaking, everything turning black when I know the truth is red. Everything turning cold..
The chaos has gone silent, but not lucky enough to quickly end up dead.

I consider myself lucky that I lay here in this hospital bed. Surrounded by people I love. Not alone, not in my house but I feel at home. I 'm a little scared now.. All of your faces are blurring. Will you please hold my hand? I feel like my head is.. I