The Angel of Death shows up in front of me as I slowly die with the pain I felt leaving my body. It tall with wings made of pure white pearls, each pearl holding a beautiful soul. It has long blonde hair that curly at the ends reaching down to her shoulders and hazel green eyes. It calls my name drawing me in closer and as I get closer it's beauty starts to fade as it starts to turn into myself I walk closer trying to figure out why I look like that. I get closer and the closer I get it loses its wings and it's skin turns a mesh grey with dark black greasy long hair with the face turning into something hideous, by the time I realize what it is ad where I'll end up going with it it's too late and I'm snatched by it and taken to the depth of hell.

Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long. From a young age I was told to be careful what I do and how I do, being a black man in America makes you feel like you’re in danger at all times and every day, hour, minute, second, and breathe is blessing. I think I’ve lived too long to not feel comfortable as me to be comfortable living because even though I know I’m in danger to everyone else I’m the dangerous one. I think I’ve lived too long because I’ve had success which isn’t expected of someone of my dark skin. I think I’ve lived to long and I think it’s only a matter of time before my too long life becomes a too short life, a life filled with what ifs and maybe if I did. I think I’ve lived too long but I haven’t lived long enough. @Famewriter