You should all be running
There clocks are singing
There cracks are screaming
The horizon one hundred yards away, So
you should be running
Firing your energies, feel the cannon fodder, straight from the Howl
Down past the credence
Up & over indulgence
In the bright earnest face we all so fear
My mother's eyes show me
My father's will teaches
Because his words go
Up, down and up and down and straight & die
& through and ground
Reaching time reach the audience
Reach out for bleachers where watch
tictoc right American preachers
1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4
Me junction, the merger, our mental *******
Me ******, me scared
Me changing like canon fire
Right! To the ocean, deep deep depths
To think think future
TicTicTicTicTicTicTic
a clock there is singing
Showtunes for theme songs, church bells
Notify
Defcon 12 falling tanks off me shelf
See the mad red carnation
Shot at the pieces in eclipse of today
I keep going when I still have nothing to say
The drapery dying the godbirds still flying
I will never know what comes next
But I've got influence
& I'll need congruence
To empty a vault full of universal need
I want to be running
I'd wish you were running
The stitches, the fabric, sewn loving care
Like the landscaping, keep you warm
I've stolen from homeless
I've stolen from men
I break all the precepts
My breathing's from them
I steal all their oxygen
Whenever I breath Me harmony
Me stretching Me arm reach no peace
I see the world over
the oceans are strange
There's volcanic lightening
& men in white coats
I don't eat, I don’t sleep
I walk for them, should running
out there should running
We feel for the riches
We feel for the dying
Cancerous limp-ation, now windmill's orchestration
Shoes stuck in mud with laces together
Women see lightening when held through the weather
The war, land the peace is
The dynamic tension
The balance in pieces
With eyes up to heaven
Who cares if we're dying
We're all one
One what
I accuse you of calling the charlatan, ****
One bread piece obtuse cause
the sandwich is dying
Do you think that's normal?
Do you think that's abstract?
Boys crying because their teachers have fears
From the past make it last
What is wrong with your peers
Hold together mold together
Find out what's next
Feeling perplexed
Run run run you silly little girls
There's no sense in hiding the rest of the world
We've got one thing in common
And one thing is this
We've all got timing for HIGHER CONSCIOUSNESS
Hold together, mold together
Cry together scream
the bonding is no place
for a welcome machine
Then
What do we do
What do we do
What do we do
What do we do?
End swimming, out running
Over fencing, out running, Break walling, out running
Down clouding, out running
Fall like jumpers, run like dying
Out through planetary & temporary adrenal-line
Sleep when men in white coats
Them start walking
They march, they country
They apple of eden & run when the men
in white coats, they lay sleepin
The world is a mountain
the people they range
Look at these weirdos, make them say change
Educate the many use mindscreen no strife
The point of the riddle
Eternal solvation
We are confused with the mental *******
I'm ******* I'm sorry I'm scared
There's isolation in landscape
Something sounds like prepared
Listen to wordplay
try to find the right light
there's air in the landscape...
Cool to the touch
(a few beats)
1,2,3,4
Say ******* with metaphor
(a few beats)
I've got words, I've got wisdom
I watch movies
There's motion, just grab it
Keep going
You should be running
You should all be running
The world is going to start at any second
You should be running

Language
is one of my favorite things
for which I displayed
an early facility
I toyed with foreign languages
but went no further
it wasn’t where I wanted
to spend my time

I wanted to save the whales
improve education
fight poverty
protect our environment
a whole host of causes
I visited in a repeating cycle
whirling faster and faster until

I created my own vortex
and then found myself
at the far end of a wormhole
with no idea how I got there
much less how to return
and found myself observing
every time I behaved badly
in excruciating detail

A tactless comment
a thoughtless act
each small transgression
building stone by stone
until I created a fortress
walling myself within
this invisible shield

When we touch
is it you or me
who feels remotely?

All dissolves into Oneness.

17 July 2005

Cold the day begins in earnest
Gathering the mist at sunrise
Magpie screams as thin beam strikes him
Keen of eye and black of feather
Crow in thicket calls his brethren
Mist arises deep in valley

Fallen petals lie in tumult
Beaten down by squall that shook them
Bramble, precious jewels wearing
Berries black that shine like glory
Blowing over endless hillsides
None may tell the north wind’s story
Dancing in the sighing branches
Casting leaves of oak and willow
Ash and beech and long-shanked rowan
Bough and twig and fallen acorn
Squirrel hoards for bitter future
Whispers tales of coming Winter

Green is now a fading memory
Leaves lie crimson, brown and golden
Ripe and awful apples moulder
Boar lies sleeping fat and sated
Mushroom blooms on rotting deadwood
Nightshade sways on tumbled walling
Fern grows dense by water running
Down by where the gravestones standing
Tell of those whose lives are ended

Clad in moss and superstition
Watching over generations
Bends the old and twisted yew tree
Shakes and laughs with storm-wracked holly
Waiting for the day of reckoning
Biding time through mankind’s folly
Hears All Hallows Eve a-beckoning

when all of the home, or underneath
the bed, or even throne of dream
  all lay with life of felled bodies,

         — lest I feel forever the joy
              of the fall,

when all scrumptious light bend in
incorrigible water, strangeness pursues
all dark;

    soft, soft,
soft, encircling in cage
   the soft,
soft, aloft hills and dead pools
  of sweat
soft and supple      skin
  raged thud of fragmented name
on walling up lips

        love is man and man's prison sees
to it all silence when everything is set free
and we have no use for them anymore,
    
     imprisoning us, the love–

filling holes in your heart by filling holes in your skin
dry walling your body and painting over the scar tissue

i wanna love you by the ocean but
you're not as beautiful as the skyline

tell me i'm a ****** up being for ******* with your feelings
while playing with your flesh
body origami, oh
you said you wanted it then

you only regret regretting it

It was not smoke getting in my eyes;
More likely the third shot of Wild Turkey
In relatively short order
Which made my eyes a bit misty.
I had come up North to that cold cow country north of the Thruway,
Ostensibly to reconnect with the prospective love of my life
To start anew, to set things aright
(She was a grad student, Electrical Engineering
But not precise at all--she was mercurial, Plath-esque,
Prone to both epochs of silent introspection
And inexplicable spontaneous combustions of rage.
I heard later she’d dropped out of the program
Without a word to advisors or anyone else.)
It had not ended up hearts and flowers,
The breakup, which left feelings bruised and china broken,
Was both unpleasant and irrevocable,
So with an evening to **** before the next day’s flight
(Out of Ottawa, **** near a two hour drive)
I was haunting a bar stool
At the prototypical North Country townie bar:
An endless series of the owner’s cousins jamming on stage,
Several dogs wandering the premises
A veritable kaleidoscope of buffalo plaid
In shades of red, green, and gray.
In such places on such occasions, somebody ends up as your buddy,
Which is how I came to be doing shots with one of the regulars
Who listened intently, sympathetically to my particular tale of woe
Until such point he blurted out (if one can blurt something sotto voce)
I used to bone a girl in the nuthouse up in Ogdensburg.

The particulars of the liaison came gushing out like whitewater;
He’d been laid off from the Alcoa plant up in Massena,
And landed a temp job at the state mental hospital.
There had been, so he said, no shy romancing, no overt flirtation
(And as my drinking buddy pro tem put it,
It’s not like we could do dinner and a movie)
She’d simply followed him out to the trash compactor
And, the whining of cardboard
Going to meet its maker serving as cover,
They had simply let Nature take its course.

The girl was not like the other denizens
Of that particular soft-walled motel,
A broken factory-second of a human being;
Christ, she was beautiful, he lamented,
Red hair, skin like half-and-half,
Green eyes that ate you up and spit you back out again.
He’d never been able to figure out the attraction--
I was just a schlub guy who’d never had anything but schlub girls
But he said that she’d told him she loved him--no more than that,
He was her very salvation, the feeling mutual enough that he said
If I’d been there any longer,
I probably would have tried to bust her out myself.

He found out later that she’d been put inside for killing her old man,
Hacking him into dog-food sized bits,
Then walling up the pieces in her dining room,
But he insisted, slapping his palm on the bar,
Swear to God, even if I knew that
I would have risked sneaking her over the border anyway.  
I asked why he’d never tried to hook up with her on the outside.
He stared straight ahead for a few moments.  
I dunno.  I heard she hung herself, but I dunno.
We drank more or less in silence after that,
As there wasn’t a hell of lot more either of us could say,
And as I drove the sparseness of southern Ontario the next morning,
I said a silent thanks to whom or whatever kept me
From giving voice to the urge to express my respect and admiration
For any woman with the ability to hang drywall.

Its in your eyes,
Why so mercenary?

I see your mind,
And become the necessary,

Who am I?
What's my worth?

These questions I find
From birth I've been walking blind

Who were you?
When I fell behind

I keep moving forward
Try not to press rewind

One day in time,
I will find a light of mine

One night I promise,
You will see me shine.

But who am I?
And who are you?
Who are we?
Answers, I need a sign

Baby steps,
But don't get left behind
Take a right
Don't step on my porcupine

Am climbing up,
These steps so hollow,
Am climbing up,
But who's footprints do I follow?

Where does it start?
How does it end?

Tell me reverend
What happens when a demon becomes your friend?


Do you... Do you... Do you... Do you... See me? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????­?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????­??????????????


Am at a beach,
Tasting the salty breeze so sweet,

Am at a beach
Feeling the sand burn under my feet,

I hear her voice, something charming in her voice

I see her poise, something beautiful in her poise

So am following her like she is the pied piper and everything else is noise

Am swimming after her,
She seems so alluring,

Am swimming out to sea,
destiny must be calling,

My heart is pumping,
Am breathlessly hulling,

can't stop now,
My mystery prize is stalling.

Am sinking deep
Fading into the blue,

Am sinking deep,
And can't seem to find a clue,

My lungs are full,
And my mind is walling

I find myself wonder
Will I be saved?
Can my sins be waived?
can I cheat the book of life on the very last page
After all, I never had a chance from my conception stage.
Someone drop a key for me so I can get out of this cage.


Do you... Do you... Do you... Do you... See me? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????­?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????­??????????????


Who do I love?
Who can I trust?

Good Friends are loyal
But Family are blood,
But are family still blood?
if your DNA is mixed with hatred and unjustified love?

My love is selfish,
My love is grown,
Truthfully speaking,
Sometimes I just want to be alone,

this life of mine,
I walk on cold stones,
Just me, myself and I.
But you could be my co pilot
if you fit the role.

But I can't read you,
my vision is faded.

I can't feel you,
So I search for the dots on your pages,

Mirrors for the blind?
That won't help me deal with changes

Show me something deeper in your mind,
and I will free you from your chains and cages

Knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss
what a strange contradiction not to be missed

we only get one shot,
no second chances,

So am living it good,
like the blind man who finally understood.



Do you... Do you... Do you... Do you... See me? ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????­?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????­??????????????

From across the room i watched with gloom in hand

Trembling of the soon to be lost temper of my severed tranquilities, swiveling on my spleen

Fueling the surrendering of my dreams for one squeeze to lead them all

Fear only stalled in my cause for alarm

No harm shall come before the storm

No spawn of thought beyond the forlorn

Here to see
See nothing
Nothing to see
See something

Something amiss
Amiss of the somethings
Some things are best
Best left unsaid

And unsaid is where they burned

Turned out
Out turned
Turned doubt
Doubt turned

Confidence

Confidence with delicately sculpted prominence over loose targets

Scurrying like varmints

Not to tarnish the cries for help

6 flashes for silence, and a taste of hell

By demon be driven, as we all sell when pressed against hell with the means to end it all

Let the chips fall where they may, as in jail i can prey on bigger things, and emerge a king

Solitary confinement will refine my shrine to stardom

But the martyrdom of *****, is quickly forgotten

Spoiled rotten in self indulgence

Emboldened in molten rage

The pages folded before fading away

In cindered fairies playing with my pain

Falling

As Jagged glass from window panes

Empty walls
Walling in the wisdom
Wisdom calls
Calls for blood
Blood from all

I merely heed the call and fall fashionably

Rationally broken in the cities hold on me, in claustrophobic scolding for my holdings in heavenly weapons pointing to the cure

I expect nothing but the allure of spatter, patterned out to the tune of my doubts, coagulated in lieu of the claps, looping through the traps of no take backs, and collapsing to my synapses crackling in the rain.

Smash my brain, in suicide by cop,  I jump atop the bridges that i burned

I turn the other cheek

Just to wink at the weak

Before i leap

And never learned

i

half-hexagonal shape
of collected stones
walling the shore

flapless flight, a
white-belied eagle
spread against hill  

brass lock gate,
a dark morning
to high tide din

gulls fish diving
arrows at twilight,
star-mobbed night

ii

waves swish above,
whip us a few feet,
push, crash, beat

perched on a rock,
soft airborne feet
part water again

an early morning
climb up a cliff,
as far as eyes

can see, the
endless hazy
ruptures of sea

iii

little fire with
wet matchsticks,
coconut husk,

scrap wood,
twigs, winter
grass residue

a confetti of
tales at tea,
she, he, me

quieter in our
rooms at dusk,
again adrift

iv

I sum up my
habits, their
relentless

obstinate
shore lash,
wasted years

here, once
aside from
the crowd

consider
my islands,
my inner seas

v  

how demonic
to confront
oneself, for

once, let it be,
a calmness
settles like

residue, and
though youth
fades every

moment, I may
yet foray again,
again to meet

myself on a
salt breeze morn,
the tide, the beach

there is something
keeping me away
from walling through this door
it is like there is a line of standing arguments
that must be satisfied
before this simple action can be completed
and it stops me in my tracks
standing here at this very moment
writing these thoughts
within the world
as it passes by

He slipped on a set of headphones,
Adjusted a dial or two,
Then introduced his radio show
And the members of his crew,
‘The Horror Tales of the Greats’ he read
Each week to the folk in town,
Just as the Moon was coming up
With the sun then truly down.

And the folk had huddled round speakers
To hear, in a thousand homes,
The tales of Edgar Allan Poe
In the speaker’s crackling tones,
And an eerie mist fell over the town
If they chanced to look outside,
As the ghosts of horror stories past
Rose up from the place they died.

Each tone was sent with a shiver
From the night’s Plutonian shore,
Just as that stately bird of old
Had repeated, ‘Nevermore!’
While the cats had yowled in the alleyways
When he read a tale of sin,
Of walling up the corpse of his wife
When the Black Cat did him in.

The Fall of the House of Usher,
The Masque of the Red Death,
The tales built up in the atmosphere
And made them short of breath,
The Cask of Amontillado,
The Pendulum and the Pit,
Whatever the horror, and most intense
There was always more of it.

The stars that shone in the evening sky
Had gone, though the sky was clear
As the Moon had dropped down, over a hill
While the airwaves dripped with fear,
And the walls back there, in the studio
Were seeming to seep a flood,
As the speaker droned in the microphone
The studio filled with blood.

And suddenly then, a different voice
Was heard all over the town,
Rattling through their radio’s
And shouting the reader down.
‘Shutter your windows and lock your doors
Put children under the bed,
Hide yourselves right under the stairs
Or you may well end up dead!’

‘The very air that you breathe has been
Long saturated with dread,
Has filled your lungs with the ripe unclean
That came from somebody’s head.
The ghostly voice on your radio
That has whispered blood and gore,
Will drown tonight in the studio
So there won’t be any more.’

And right behind that terrible voice
There was choking sounds and screams,
Enough to curdle the very blood
And to give them nightmare dreams,
Then after a long, chilled silence of
The type that terror sates,
A voice said, ‘that was the final of
The Horror Tales of the Greats.’

David Lewis Paget

Can we think old thoughts as thought by earlier readers,
without walling a mind off from all we know,
which Hobbes had no way of learning,
though? No.
We need this knack of we being, a you and a me, seeing
an I, in a time long ago.

Egalitarian sortings of men, arrogation worth,
a-dam, novus knower,
acknowledge me your equal? Dare ye, I may be a fool.
Levelers were around, in Hobbes's town, taking time
to bring the highest minded down,
not to lift the baser sort up.

-- none the less, lime the branch,
-- by chance a bird may bring a word, watch

we heard, the deceived received a reprieve,
we've found the edge stitched in
second thoughts and other wise guesses as good,
good enough
to keep life as we have agreed, conserving
the power in the
word - life as in -- we live, not me without you or we
without all the otherwise functionaries,
maintaining the planet and aching
to settle down to day and night,
just right.

Balance in being part of it all,
restored,

for a second there, didjafeel it?

I hope that I can be
an oaken door
standing wide open
the wind rushing inside
causes the shutters to clap
against the brick walling
and sometime people will leave
and their absence is cold
but maybe someone else
will come in
bringing even more
than the previous resident
and my curtains will be open
so that I may see all outside of me
and so they might
see all that is inside of me
all I can ever hope to be
is open

Does He Still Deny A Climate Change?
    (asked by the least political of observers)

Is he denying still,
Or is he stalling, stone(y)walling
Wailing about other things,
Like Mexicans and walls while slinging
Maddening, outrageous barbs
About the so-called loss of jobs
To South Korea while a North Korean
TV lady sobs with joy
About a bomb to be employed
(You all know which I mean)
That starts a chain
That takes out half a planet.

Does he still encourage fossil fuel production
Leading in the wrong direction?
Does he not see rising seas
And floods and famines and disease
Around and as potential?
Heats and droughts and quakes to come?
Or does he see the states as humming?
Self-deception quintessential:
Lies.
Who can call it otherwise?

What is a lie?
And how does one get by with lying
And denying, falsifying, flying
In the face of truth
As often as he tries – no, does.
With head, mind, pen, hand buzzing
I shall stop! But you, my friend
May make a noise, examine cause, while empathizing
Till an end.
This being written off the cuff,
Now it is time to send this off
Into the world of cyber.  

Does He Still Deny A Climate Change 9.3.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin

Like the tumble trembling from a heap of crates,
As the ocean flows up and down in waves,
Sadness seems to be my solid state,
It's been a hard drive trying to get to a different place,
If I don't move I'll be diseased,
I'm sick of walling in misery,
Peace, love, joy, they're calling me,
Melt this stony flesh before I freeze,
Unlock these chains for you have the keys or did you already give them to me?

Where, pray tell, are we now?
How far have we progressed?
Have we covered our ears so we can't
Hear the cries of the dispossessed?

Have pages been ripped out of history books
So that the people cannot see
The struggles that many undertook
To help to set all people free?

A nation "indivisible,
With liberty and justice for all"
Can benefit at times from a self-
Evaluative overhaul,

Or maybe from a look in the mirror
To see whether the image displayed
Truly represents the picture
Of freedom meant to be conveyed.

Through irreconcilable differences,
Have we now become divorced
From hopeful ideals that early on
The shapers of our nation endorsed?

Are we sincerely looking within
Our hearts to make a "more perfect" nation,
Or are we more consumed with drawing
Attention to the standing ovation?

Are we shutting the door to the soul
Of America and walling out
The power and strength that forms the basis
Of what this country is all about?

Let us not be blindsided
By rogue forces that hope to succeed
In weakening what makes us strong,
Only to relish watching us bleed.

-by Bob B (6-16-18)

I have called you the the best, the worst, and it’s strange now I call you nothing.

2 Being reduced to echoes of nostalgia forces me to stitch up the last five years and all the while looking at my Frankenstein creation, I always long to go back.

3. As if this graveyard trembles inside distant fogs that old friends and family cannot bring themselves to mourn over.

4. They call my soul a lake of toxicity. Not once have they asked how I manage to swim through the current of life, but instead look away as the drowning begins.

5. I tried creating my own vortex, but finding myself at the end of a wormhole with no idea how I got here yet alone return to the person before every bad choice, flawed reaction, and bottles tsunami inside of me.

6. Tactless comments, a thoughtless act, a reactive tongue; each transgression building stone by stone until I created this sentinel walling myself with an invisible shield so nobody can come close to me.

7. There’s no winning this war. The battles have always witnessed a type of loss, bloodshed or not.

8. If we touch again whose the reaching hand? Nobody. There’s no oneness without wholeness. And this fortress remains guarded, empty.

9. I cannot keep counting these days anymore. I am a prisoner against the bedroom window. The sepia tones of streetlights taunt me, and I’d rather speak to ghosts than answer the phone these days.

10. We knew how this would end. The white room will only cast my shadow. I don’t know where I will drift from here.

Upon the Day He made the way.
"***** a wall!" to the masses call.
That was the aim that day.

How much more, a Country like a *****,
Denuclearization!?
No nuclearization?

Oh! There is no reconciliation!
Just a Nuclear Wall one day.

Wall to the South of us,
Now to the North...
Dening Allies to the East,
Perhaps Northeast, Gulf...
Northwest!

Are we confused yet
Or
Don't you see...
The Insane One is Walling up
You
&
Me!

Soon it's the Internet, media, movies.
"Are you a Phundamentalist Khristian?"
Or
"I'll have ya hangin' by or nearest trees!"

Breathe-Stand
This isn't who we are.
Breathe-Stand and GO!
We can't allow this to go this far.

1

Tragic struck,

Everything fractures into abstract art.

A new dimension of humiliation

Undulating with fresh cement gray,

Walling me into the parody of nameless faces.

2

Into the embrace of aged Solitude,

Chancing a broken heartbeat,

Stitched up with swords of wounded Self-Esteem.

With passing of days i fought the beaks of invasive Nightmares.

3

Here into the mirror of my past and future,

A wonder growing to the wrinkles of Your reflections.

A lightning strike through the core of my chaotic Soul.

Looking into the eyes of Your knowing Mona Lisa Smile.

4
Down falls my metallic tears.

i'm burning whatever's left of us:

i'm burning
these foundations

i'm forgetting you

i'm walling myself
in flame

i'm watching you walk
away

the doorway collapses
around me before i
realise it's too
late.

Malicious hearts will hurt the empath
As summer hurts the winter shore
Eroding buffers until burnout
Kind retreat, the only cure
--

End-of-summer beach
Seabirds’ shaky screech
Grey gulls too full to cry
Bin chooks too fat to fly
Sorry shoreline
Systems offline
Foot pounded
Rebounded
Flattened…
Shrub ripped
Wing clipped
Sand-******
Grass plucked
Party bruised
Cocktail-cruised
Cans on conches
Fish unconscious
Foam and flotsam
Wave-blind coxon
Soda can crab shacks
Neon pink algae tracks
Whelk shell graveyard
Absent lifeguard
**** platoons
Naked dunes
Cheapened
Weakened
Exposed…
Tidal hangover
Coastal leftover
Erosion potluck
Sitting sea-duck
Strong incoming storm surge
Winter solstice land purge
Quick and shifty beach thieves
Cyclone tempest mouth-breathes
Recalcitrant brackish aggressor
Intransigent briny transgressor
Suspensions of sediments modified
Walling and breakwaters compromised
Over, back, and whitewash makers
Bubble, rubble, boil and breakers
Weathered, not weathering
Tempered, not tempering
More block than gavel
More grave than gravel
All prisoner no guard
Grain short of a shard
Receding sand-line drift
Intensive shoreface-lift
Patient unresponsive
Highly hypertensive
Code cerulean blue…
Plant encouragement
Shoreline nourishment
Sand transplant
Grass implant
Healing hiatus
to homeostasis
Swell subsiding
King Tide presiding
Prince Neap succeeds
Warm court accedes
Managed realignment
Sanctuary assignment
Steadfast protections
Timid reconnections
Gentle, careful, soft,
and slow…
  A new beach visitor
  dips their toe

I’m already unmoored.
My heart turns sunward,
as my eyes look onward
towards towering distances.

As glowering visages
scowl inwards,
poisoning their innards
with all that stress,
walling in hate
and dying in that
disgusting place.

Cowards cower
loosing seconds,
minutes and hours
to the anguish of
forgetting how to love.

But I am
the whispering
walker waking in
the early morning
and working on
my poetic warnings.
Even though, my boat
is already untethered
and I have already taken
off in this wild weather.

I say what I can,
give them a piece
of this tired mind,
and leave mankind.

My ship takes sail,
as they let themselves
sink into their own hells.

Under the jacaranda tree,
near the fragrant trunk,
lies a sheet of blue trumpet―
shaped flowers.

You are home, near
the lotus feet of marbled
Buddha, standing *****.

You are walling in
Agni's wrath, with wild thoughts.
The somatization becomes very unkind.

It foretells the reality.
Curves take you to lakes. You read more
of the depth of water.

What was the avant-garde
of new age, against
the tight lips of crusade?

I got a text.

How are you?

I lean my head on the cold wall, hiding the tear walling down my cheek.
Seriously? How I am?

Depressed.
Sad.
Scared.
Anxious.
Broken.
Lost.
Hopeless.
Wis­hing to die.

I write back.

I'm fine.