White lined paper
coated in ink and sweat from my palms-
shaking anxiously as my hand floats in the passenger seat,
I close my eyes and pretend I’m holding yours.
They keep telling me to focus my eyes on the road,
but little do they know, you’re really the one behind the wheel.

The more I learn,
the more I see religion as a man-made idea
to make us feel that we are some how special
compared to all the other life on earth.
I think I'm scared to accept this
because without my fear of the afterlife,
what else is really keeping my spirit
tethered to this world?
Love?
My need to not present myself
as a burden to others?
i d k . . .