I Know How I'll Die

Header photo © S. Schirl Smith.

It starts with a tinge under my skin. An itch begging to be scratched. I find my pulse there, contracting, growing. I dare not touch it. I know it will embed itself under my fingernails, spreading to everything I touch, infecting my eyes, my mouth, the open spaces of my body, eventually seeping into my bloodstream, then to my heart, until… it stops beating, stops throbbing, stops breaking.

Read my essay on longing, death and love for Barren Magazine.