Dying means little

without fantasy, else it's --


about everything.

There's a sense in which
I could be anywhere—
everywhere is the same
as here.

I am going to pluck that illuminated corner of the night sky
and graft it to my palm.
I am sorry, precious sky, that we have been so distant
for so long.

I said I didn’t
but I did
I wasn’t supposed to
give a ****
Never seem to
get ahead
imagining scenarios
in my head
They’re always too good
to be true
I die alone if
I die with you
I die alone if
I die with you

End it when I can’t
seem to think
of anything that
means anything
Add a break then
start again
Treat it all as one
in the same
Treat it all as one
in the same

Repeat it to make
it seem important
It only takes more
energy
The reward is
fleeting
But you’re still
here reading
But you’re still
here reading

And that’s comforting

The end

a butterfly doesn't ask to grow wings

So what are the facts?

Just unforgettable, are --


my reconstructions.