I sit here pondering my death.
As I look upon the remnants of my tattered remains for signs of my so called life, I come to the conclusion that to do this, I must first accept the fact that I even had a life.
But how can one have lived without the rhythmic beating of a heart, or the spiritual foundation of a soul to support ones wants and desires, or the will that encourages the thoughts and dreams of existence.

How could the emptiness that was inside me have housed such a wonder?
How is it possible the weakness I felt could ever have held such a power within?
Is it possible I had reached the pinnacle of my suffering and committed emotional suicide?

Is it possible my demise was due to the ravenous wants and needs of man, disguised as passion and love which lured me into my willingness to give all that I had so freely, to satisfy a gluttonous appetite that consumed everything in its path including the memory of who and what I was?
But to acknowledge this would be to admit I gave my precious gift of life in exchange for a lie wrapped in the promise of everlasting happiness and love.

I sit here and ponder my death but I do not mourn.
For I have only lost the vessel which held my true spirit, the one which now looks for the light and the chance to be reborn.
A new being of strength and wisdom who realizes the mistake made in that other form, but will now hold dear all that is to come and all that can now be.