when i think of dying
my actual moment of death
i cry.
its then that i think of everyone ive ever loved
and all the things ive known.
but when we die
most of us experience pain
and fear
and think of only our continuation.
of our selfish selves.
and our arms flail about and we moan.
and our arms reach for things on nightstands assuming they are more air.
or blood.
or health.
but we agonize.
and we die.
like poisoned spiders.
in a glass filled with smoke.
and that is our world.
and you live there.
and you may be the man
or the child
holding down the glass.