At a ridiculously young age, prompted by nothing I can trace, I am haunted by my own mortality. I lie gripped by one downward-spiralling idea: As sure as I am lying here right now, the time will come when I no longer exist. There is no bottom to this prospect. The emptiness at the heart of this realisation is all-consuming.
Seeing Your StoriesDeath
I am a man and have three balls:
Huge bottom, chest and head quite small.
But for sticks, I’ve no arms at all,
A scarf but not a belt.