I am but a thousand words
A million melodies flowing freely
A spider web of emotions
A spiral highway of thoughts

I think of dying a lot.
Almost every day it seems.
My mind is consumed by the thought that,
Possibly,
one day,
I will simply cease to exist.
My brain doesn't understand,
it cannot comprehend,
the brevity of these thoughts.
Not existing isn't an option, it goes against human instinct.

A part of me hopes there is life after death,
That with all the possible universes and timelines,
We can simply switch from this one to the next.

The anxious part of me,
the largest parts of me,
panic at the idea of having no air or sun or life.
Nothing, not even awareness of the absence of something.

As empty as I am, or have been,
I still fight.
I fight to stay alive and to experience all of the wonderful moments that exist in this life.
I want to travel to unknown Italian islands and see the way the sun sets in Thailand.

Why am I stuck in this bubble, this little corner of Earth, when there is so much more to explore?

I am afraid of dying, without ever having the opportunity to live.

Almost abstractly it begins
Offerings of aphorisms to quell the daily tide
Exploring all angles available and their attributes
Adjust then all aspects of our problems
And build towards an anticipated resolution
A path that addresses those actions
But abandons the essence
Trophies acquired arbitrarily
Diminishing the attribution of success
Assistance pursued to remedy adversity
Renders academic the activities
That were pursued originally
Until all is abstract, ambiguous, abstruse

Part 1: DESOLATE SPACES STILL
Depth of the gray evening
Envelops the lone wolf child who wanders through it
Slowly making her way up the river, careful of the damp moss on the cobblestone path
Only looking up from the ground to gaze upon the stars
Looking to the constellations for guidance, unafraid of what surrounds her
All she really knows is the cold and the dark and the stars
Tips fading as they emanate from the center point
Even as dreams fade with outward pushes, the stars fade as the light moves. And she moves.
She has class at 7:30 the next morning
Paling in importance as it looms closer, its pressure now mere hours from her shoulders
Ants crawling across the sea and she’s had her fill of  the meaningless chaos
Chaos. From ordered civilization emerges organized institution, but those incarcerated can’t be tamed
Even zombies without worth run wild within the stone walls
So when another stretch looms before the lone wolf as she breathes in freedom, she can’t care.
Slipping through her mind is only one reason to submit. She whispers his name in her mind.
Tall, handsome, sweet, and funny… just her type and he’s right within reach…
If she submits and lets herself try
Loud hints in the soft and subtle moments make her feel like submission is worth it
Left to her own devices, she’d wander forever. But now she’ll have to make her way to class.

Part 2: Great Lakes
I entered into a staring contest with the nerd from English class
It was a deep dive exploration of the Great Lakes
Two great crystallized depths locked on me
They mirrored each other brimming with emotion
They were a river and torch to baptize me by fire
But it was just a staring contest
And afterwards she turned right back to her notebook
Completely unaware she’d left my soul spinning
Which leaves me terrified of how effortlessly enthralling she is
That her eyes have such power… and she doesn’t even seem to know.

His eyes were as soft as clouds, yet filled with a hardness one cannot put a finger on.
Though the eyes, orbs of themselves, lingered in a gaze of yearning, they comforted the pounding heartbeat. The voice, brimmed with wit soothes The Anxious with clement care.

He was not caught up, not tangled in the briars of fear, he stood firm, as the shade loomed above his shoulders. The tender voices hushed at his presence, falling into the quiet of the dark.

The Gate was swung ajar, beckoning with an outstretched hand, fingers curling, saying: “come this way.” He took a transfixed step forward, but his confusion swept him away.

Dare he attempt to find the opened Gate?
Or shall he await for it to find him once more?

They can be dark
They can be bright
Reflecting all the brilliant colors from the
morning light

They can seem empty
They can seem full
Expressing the constant ebb and flow of
society's pull

Some will remain open
Some will remain forever closed
Waiting for that moment when it's OK to be
exposed

Some will invite rigidity
Some will invite change
Hanging on to the notion that "what is"
doesn't always have to remain

It's all about perception
Eyes come in many different sizes, hues, and
clarity
So, those windows to nowhere may also be the
windows to everywhere for me