Disintegrated


Sometimes I look into the sky and wonder when my time will come.

For some reason, I have this gut feeling that I will soon be facing death.

Not a suicidal type of pondering, for those thoughts are ninja kicked away and replaced when I start thinking this way.

It's a far more eery and superstitious way to think that digs into my paranoia for bad things to start happening randomly, constantly, and everywhere around me.

If I'm onto something here, I want to ask my legacy to be "Tory somehow, mysteriously is the target of a burning celestial object falling from space."

I want death to take me in the magical rareness of the moments right when the comet hits.

I want my casket to have a letter on top of it reading "death by comet" in deep, dark, bold print.

Since my body will have disintegrated, people at my funeral will get it.

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