A poem about death.

You know how this poem is going to end. You read the title, you’re not stupid. You know exactly how it’s going to end. What you don’t know is about those last 7 minutes. You know that things are almost over, but you can’t help but enjoy those 7 minutes. For 7 minutes I am a child again, innocent, pure, untouched by the trauma and pain and drugs. Even if deep down there’s that sinking dread of what is to come, for just a moment, things are sweet and simple. 7 minutes of skipping through flower fields, not a care in the world, just the pure joy of childhood. The warm embrace of overdose never felt so comforting. And then, 7 minutes later it is over. Everything is quiet and still. All of the comfort and warmth is gone, no longer a soul, just the husk of a body.