Life Is Strange

Will you be my chaos theory?

Life is currently linear.
I’ve never been great at math either,
so don’t count on me
because I can’t count.
I have added and subtracted
to this equation,
yet I feel like I can’t control
the multiplying divisions
between here and then,
here and to be,
because the chimes
against the wind
have stopped whispering their grace.

Everything comes to an end,
as harshly it began.
The juxtaposition
between pieces of paper
laying next to one another,
one soaked, the other burned.
What misfortune
brought two opposites
within each other’s reality?
How does the butterfly
fly into another dimension,
leaving a storm behind previous realities?

Because if I could go back in time
I would change all the decisions,
every universe existing
and **** myself off
because you do not deserve
this suffering I constantly write about.

Normally I would end it here,
but this is merely the surface.

How naive am I to think
I have searched for you in myriads
of different lifetimes, when the truth is
despite all the little details:
my hair colour,
your either clean or bruised knuckles,
my scars and on which patch of skin,
your arms and how they stand as towers or cabins.

Despite all these minor additions,
we are constantly dividing ourselves
for pieces of the story that cannot be changed,
because in every alternate reality,

we are supposed to die young.
I am so fearful of this knowledge.

The stars must be able
to witness all these realities
at once, so it only makes sense
that they are already dead
by the time they reach our universe.

The guilt. The knowledge.
The calm before the storm.
Is there a calm after?
Hell is empty,
and no flames,
just ice winds and
darkness.

This is the aftermath.
I still don’t know how to
tell the ghosts
when the light will finally escape.

I leave here
with nothing
but a burnt down poem
drowning inside these tides
of my mind’s eye,
and there’s a hole in the earth
waiting for me.
They say I have a way with words,
so why am I speechless now?

Friend, make sense of all this
in your own turn, in your own turn.