From body to box,
Sunday brought back the reminder that death,
is the only thing permanent in this world.

Tears burning a hole in my heart, thinking back of days
in which I was dying to die,
and what for?

I have yet to figure out why we
live, or what I'm supposed to
do. The complication of that thought
processing through my anxious mind
drives monsters in my stomach
and brain
to start tearing their ways out.
Leaving each new finger print
a face to forget, and each new sent
one to remember.


I'm confused,
as to why we bury what we love under
dirt, but really
why the box?

Why not let our remains be the sprout
to courageous wildflowers and
sweet nectar.


The past four years have brought change in
everyone, and everything loved. Battling with myself
for rights and wrongs and unknown
crumbling pavement.

Haunted with "Where will I go when I die?"
Who's to say when I'm dead, because by my definition
that was April 18th.


These questions
and jumbling
blurred
thoughts
pour out of my eyes, mouth, nose, and ears
Imitating some sort of overflowing volcano
of insanity.