There are those who laugh because they have not yet heard the terrible news, and,
There are those who laugh because they have.
All of us who enter the world, whether between our mothers' legs, or,
in an obstetrician's hands, after being Macduffed,
are fated to leave it in a box, or, perhaps, in a puff of smoke.
We hold these truths to be self-evident,so,
off to work, or, off to party, makes no great difference.
So, you go to work, I'm headed for the bar.

I was 19 the first time I felt it
I saw a photo of the Golden Gate bridge
And wanderlust stirred in some little used corner of me
For the first time I saw the attraction of moving
Changing, leaving, discovering
Doing all of those things that I am no good at

I like to dwell
My home is built out of the people I let into my heart
And without them I am a gypsy
Aimlessly pacing the world
Learning to be lonely I have found home in little places
Instead of people

I found home under a parasol of green leaves
That drenched me in a misty, *******
I see home in the handfuls of seaweed that I send back into the ocean
Letting the tide ****** it from my hands

I could build a house out of places and memories
Instead of living in a home that is held together by love
Because my people keep abandoning me
And so I keep trying to rebuild something, anything

But too many repairs make it so that places and people collide
Leaving me nowhere to dwell
If I step in a place I stepped with you
It is no longer safe
It has been poisoned by a happy memory

I always have myself,
I'll never leave
I am my crowd,
now surf me.

"Did you hear that?"

"Sssshhhhh......"

"hear"

'It is nightingale'

'No, no it is lark'

'oh you are such a catastrophic'

'it has to be lark,'

'love is Shakespearean'

'life is denial'

'it's time....'

'yes, it's time, it's time to write death poem'

(the other person stares)

"to what I owe this breath ******,
to what I know this death moody,
lingered upon your wish to die,
to die is intellectual lie
into the circle out in snow,
thus I entered thus I just go"

(Beloved reader, by the way, that was nightingale, imitating lark,
lark was never a bird, it had always been our conviction.)

Here I enter
enter to take the knife from your hand

I cut my throat everyday

Catastrophe is an existence

my friend is a traitor
he did not held my head in lap
one last time

reincarnation is suffering

agony is overrated
overrating is an agony

thus I must not live
thus I must not live
thus I must not live

take away this pain!
hold me in your arms again
you're my everything