I can’t breathe, much less believe the truth

If this were my last moment alive, i would write a poem.

A long sonnet, a story, about death. About life, about love.

I would write to all those that have come before me. I would pour my heart out to them, i would show them that i love them through my presence. I would simply be. I would trust my words, my last words. And I would listen. I would listen to the hum of the fridge. I would not, do not, hold any expectations for myself.

It may fill your mind with noise, or it may bring you joy.

If this were your last moment alive, would you remember who you truly are?

Death, you are death. You are joy and you are play. You are sanctuary and you are bright as the day. You are not what others expect of you, you are whole. Complete, everything you are and everything that you need to be.

This is your fire, your flame, your drive, your creative force. The chains can exist or they can break. This is your moment your shiny golden ticket.

No one else’s fear has any hold over you. They are afraid of what they are not. They fear to be nothing. To rot. To lose themselves to the mud and the maggots, the critters and the crows. They fear to decompose.

You do not. You do not fear this decay, for you have lived, yearned and realized that there is no fear within the day, or the night. There is death and it is what you are. Do not fear yourself you brilliant and dying star. No one else matters in this tale right now. It is you. Their fears fall away. You know how. You breathe, you channel, you let the love in. You do not fear for you have found it here, its clear. It’s a jumble of words and sometimes it’s clear.

It’s the lust turned to passion, turned to sanctuary turned to love. It’s the hollowness in your chest, it’s the speckle under the rug. It’s the moment you fall and the moment you rise. It’s the decomposition, it’s what’s within your eyes.

It’s the killer and it’s the fawn. It’s the deer you string along. It’s your rage and it’s your glory, it’s the never ending story.

In it you endure, you venture and you play. You’ve scaled mighty mountains you’ve discovered more every day. You’ve gone onward as you do, yet still theres an emptiness inside of you.

What is it dearest one, is it your longing, to have more fun?

Are you fed up or are you freed, for you know what it means to truly bleed.

There is purpose somewhere here. It’s within what you fear. It’s within what you resist. The snakes tongue, the serpents hiss. Why do you fear and why do you run? Are you frightened of the undoing of whats already begun?