I am finding myself
Living seconds. Wasting moments.
Connected to the world
It is far too unconscious
I breath in the sickness. Of the mind
It tastes of fear and fight and the other
It tastes of panic and night and a horror
I know her name: she is unbecoming
A self without issue
Yet I have been
And it is joy
Joy is nothing special
All the world rejoices
Each flower sings
Do we humans wish to be special in our madness?
Is it not better to sing in this pit?
Gazing at the moon and stars
Is it not better to drown? -our faces
To the night sky,
Than to sink in the mud, never having
Breathed in the milkyway?
and maybe there will be a rising
and maybe it doesn’t matter