The process of death is the systematic removal of all that you love from your life. It is like taking a prolonged stinging shit. Instead of the toxic byproducts from digested food being eliminated, the essence which animates your soul will run like diarrhea drips out a gaping asshole. Increasingly, as time progresses, your body become will become fouled up by experiences unimaginable as a child. The taste of living will be yucky on your tongue. Eventually, even your wobbly steps will become torture and you will begin to lose hope of regeneration. As your last breath nears, a lifetime of anxiety about this day will melt away into anticipation and the finality of escape.
When I moved from the city to the country, I started to die.
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