I have raked the coals
Of what passes for my soul
Stoked it into ire
I cannot perne in a gyre
The seas no longer crowded
Earth smells like a burning tire
We live so close to death
That we may awaken yet
It seems right not to consume
To live as dead until breath seems like theft
But from what, from whom?
From the open mouth of a fucking tomb?
But my anger is misplaced
It is a mask that sadness wear
When it must have claws to rip and tear
It hurts to hold this burning but it will pass
It is weather and I am the sky
Does that mean that
I too am a trick of the light?
An illusion, a side effect of sight?
When they scatter me, will it matter what I’ve done?
The wheel will turn regardless of the web I’ve spun
What is, what isn’t to be done
Differences to be made, matter cares none
I will be here for a while
Existence need not taste of bile
In the shadow of myself
I can tend a garden and sow seeds unfettered
So that I may live to see myself bettered