Leisure ultimately
turns into a race.
The finish line
quickly approaches,
whether you are running
or you're crawling.

You can't take your gold pieces to grave.
You can't take your Tesla to your grave.
You can't take your Insta to grave.
You can't take your follows to your grave.

With a finger dipped in inky blood,
I trace the bright dots cross obsidian,
Charting for another loser driven by,
and in pursuit of the touch of love.

I can't take my hot heart into earth.
I can't take my friends closer to burn.
I can't take my fever dream to death.
I can't take the love that ails me,

but it filled me, and fills me,
and if it kills me,
what better a way?