Play it again, Sam (unfinished)

Do not read or comment, please

Just another morning, like any other,
Shit
Shave
and shower

As I'm intently shaving the last stubble off my chin. The first knife cuts through my morning meditation in my little dank bathroom.

Hunched over,
struggling for breath,
and hands clenching my chest

not the sight that I wanted to leave with.

My reflection stares back at me in anger and fear.

An old man with tufts of hair, wrinkles, liver spots and no teeth laughs as convulsion after convulsion hit my heart.

The pain...
the pain...
the goddamn fucking pain,

I never felt more alive
than the moment,
I knew I was dying.

I don't like being old.
I thought death would be a release
that I embrace with open arms.

Wrong!

I was fighting it with every last ounce
of strength my withered body had left.

This was it!

It had taken my two grandmothers, one grandfather
my mother and my father.

Fuck him!
He wasn't gonna get me, not yet.

The grim reaper didn't know he was messing with.

I was the kind of shamanistic magician, that hadn't been seen in ages. I walked the planes of heaven and hell and anywhere in between. I had taken on some of the greatest 'nasties' and 'beasties' and survived to talk about it. I had a real 'bad' attitude.

I dropped down to release my body taking on the astral form whose shape I was quite familiar with, the young vital man that I used to be.
I sought him. Yes, him!
The dark angel, the grim reaper, Chiron, whatever the fuck you want to call him.

I was a coming for him. An old line, anything that bleeds can die and in the arcane understanding what dies on the astral plane also dies in either the material or spiritual plane. I saw him traveling on his black winged steed, Nightmare. His hooves flew dreamlike on the astral path. He was traveling my silver connection to its origin, seeking me.