Is he being serious?

I can't tell

Am I being serious?

I'm not sure

feeling on the brink of something

am I dying?

is this what it's like to die?

I had a lot of good words to say

they were going to come out like a sickly ball of ectoplasm

like a desperate clawing scream up from the floor

but now I don't know what they were

everything I consume is somehow related to who I am as a person

I've spent a lifetime

modeling myself after words, images, phrases, sounds

they are like little helpers

but they are not me

"don't be afraid to care"

"what did you see while you were there?"

I am bursting with joy

I want to laugh, dance, be free to love

my love is all ******* right now

it's all I know

the moon & sky so beautiful this strange winter

deadly sunsets and snow

crystalline space and stars

"how does it feeeeel?"

he asks & rolls over drunk, uncaring

I slipped her something mid-conversation

what was it?: a hint, a look, an eye?

I don't even know really

Was I being myself or not?

"the joke is come upon me"

at last, the irony is concrete

hilariously, beautifully tragic

& yet not at all; more like a lighthearted pun

"we all shine on, like the moon & the stars & the sun"

why & how did it become so difficult?

this is the struggle of every man

this is not my father's insanity, nor his father's