On Dying Young (Part II) (poem)

II

And what if I keep going,
Inventing new goals and achievements?
I'd love to die young and proud,
Untarnished by bereavement.

I speak and think a lot about death
In turn told off by those close --
We both know I'm right
And that I make the most of life.

So forgive me for asking
These important questions:
I'm painfully satisfied;
I'm vivid, not sanitised.

I'm young and able
With veracious vascularity  --
It's logical to me to die young --
It's just a technicality.

None of this is born from sadness:
It's love for life that makes me think
And these are just the musings
Of a man who knows confidence's oozings.

I love waking each and every day
To walk headlong into whatever comes:
No matter the flavour or the mood
I don't live life preparing to lose.

There's no such thing as giving up
Unless you mean suicide.
There's only psychological rest.
We only give up at the moment of death.

Is there a proud way to leave life?
Are we really not able to decide
When we leave this world peacefully?