Been gazing.
Looking.
Peering at things
I aught not to.

I see it clearly,
the sky through
a closed window.

I no longer just leer
at my faint reflection
in the glass.

I been looking,
gazing at you
for far too long.

Been taking down my mirrors.
Been changing up my song.

Nothing will ever be like the past.

It's not a car wreck I fear,
not an illness or disease.
I don't fear cardiac arrest,
or slipping and hitting my head.
I'm not worried about getting killed,
death will come
when it deems me worthy of harvest.

I'm not afraid of death, I'm afraid of wasting my life.
I'm afraid of living a life laced with routines,
routines that crept in over the years
and make time fly on fast-forward.

I'm afraid of opportunities, missing them,
letting them pass me by
so that I may yet reside
in my comfortable fast-forwarding life.

I'm afraid of the adventures,
the ones I skipped out on.
The ones that happened
while I was sitting here comfortable,
and alone.

I fear the friends,
the ones I never made.
I hear their strange voices
while I whistle along,
working my comfortable job.

I'm frightened, you see?
Not of death, nor misery.
I'm terrified at night,
when I lie down in bed
after another day spent
In this comfortable life.

Yes,
my tastes are shallow.
Although still deep enough
to drown myself in.

Been looking for
a specific type of gal:
a delicate flower
that can take
a hard *******.

Pretty, yet sturdy.
Crystalinne,
but not brittle.
Loving,
but willing
to hate-**** me
when I forget
to take the trash out.
Or when she catches me
eyeing another woman's ***.

Bring me your finest spite,
pour it over me
in a liquid display
of primal ecstasy.

The vast vapidity
is humbling.

My hollow heart
hasn't the slightest chance,
faced up against
your echoing chasms.

These...
...sallow reverberances?
They ricochet
within my skull,
making my ears ring.

Like a bullet
laced with guilt,
laden with lament.

A supersonic dose
of peace.