I die.
Right now. Stunned in full blown consciousness, I experience the exquisite pain associated with each millisecond, existing through the drama. Depths I never wanted to see.
But no. "You wanted life, Chance. You got it. You knew this could happen. Be with it. Grow. Learn. Die. Hurt. Enjoy it. Even if that comes after the rest."
Now I become.
Become what? Something ugly. Hard to hold or behold. My eyes still look like me. But so feral. What is that behind them? A fire? The universe exploding?
I come undone.
There is nothing beautiful left. I hardly know if I can ravel it back in. Is it worth my time to fix me?
And I almost don't care. "You deserve this," it whispers. Narrow eyes in the dark.
Last night I dreamt of a wolf and a coyote. Their shadows against sidewalk under moonlight. Mama was there but only in disembodied voice, never in the same room, slow to respond.
I breathe. I need peace. Wisdom. Love. Clarity. Some twisted impossible mix of solid and fluid. Existing between absolutes. Living in the gray. Living in the colors, painted in joy, pain, laughter, sensuality, anger. Wilt, blossom all at the same time.
The soils of my planet know nothing of these things. Have no wherewithall to allow such puzzles to root down and thrive.
Who the fuck knows.
Right now. Stunned in full blown consciousness, I experience the exquisite pain associated with each millisecond, existing through the drama. Depths I never wanted to see.
But no. "You wanted life, Chance. You got it. You knew this could happen. Be with it. Grow. Learn. Die. Hurt. Enjoy it. Even if that comes after the rest."
Now I become.
Become what? Something ugly. Hard to hold or behold. My eyes still look like me. But so feral. What is that behind them? A fire? The universe exploding?
I come undone.
There is nothing beautiful left. I hardly know if I can ravel it back in. Is it worth my time to fix me?
And I almost don't care. "You deserve this," it whispers. Narrow eyes in the dark.
Last night I dreamt of a wolf and a coyote. Their shadows against sidewalk under moonlight. Mama was there but only in disembodied voice, never in the same room, slow to respond.
I breathe. I need peace. Wisdom. Love. Clarity. Some twisted impossible mix of solid and fluid. Existing between absolutes. Living in the gray. Living in the colors, painted in joy, pain, laughter, sensuality, anger. Wilt, blossom all at the same time.
The soils of my planet know nothing of these things. Have no wherewithall to allow such puzzles to root down and thrive.
Who the fuck knows.
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