I am eighteen years old
And I am dying.
What if this had started a year ago? I would be getting a trip to Disneyland, but one day passes and suddenly I’m an adult
And I am dying
And I’m only seconds older than I was before
And I am still dying.
I’m not ready for this
But I am dying
And I am shit scared because I haven’t had time! I had so many plans
But I am dying!
All my friends? They keep in touch but they’re out there, fulfilling their plans in the life I will never get to live because
I am dying
And I will never be a teacher or write or have a family. I won’t get that chance. And I don’t begrudge those kids at Disneyland. How could I?
But I am dying
Too. But me? For me once this is over in a year or two that’ll be it: no more me. Oblivion. But who I feel sorry for is my mum.
Her daughter is dying.
And the only thing worse than
Dying
Too soon is having a child who goes before you. She will live with that.
Because I am dying.
I almost feel guilty
And I am dying.