Death storms in, flabberghasted that my thickness, my
Soft spoken voice, and my poor decisions has not thwarted me off course.
In truth I feel alienated even though I am causing the issue to
To forgo an earthly landing.
I feel sick to my stomach. The fire has been wiped out of my
Chest, and most days I sit in rooms where everything should feel beautiful
And all I can see is the damage.
Death keeps playing cryptograms with Kindness and
Behind their togetherness, an exhausted me
Is trying to decode the next step.
Most days I feel like ashes and embers.
Somehow though, the fire still roars
Even miniscule as it is.
Somehow, I keep going.