There isn’t a lot that frightens me.
not anymore

Anyway. It would seem that maybe death

Should

But it won’t. It can’t. It doesn’t. Stepping outside, the sun burns.

A fire in an aqua sky. Sustaining life, yet scorching, enough to maim

Without even a semblance of pain.

Then take the Ocean,

My lady. My love. Gaze upon her vastness and tremble.

(Shut the fuck up.) Such endless wet, salty, terrain. Undiscoverable.

What a thrilling luxury though, to watch the waves crash.

An Endless roaring symphony.

With grasping arms, strong, wiry, ancient arms.

Sturdy enough to rip you out into its blue mouth

And then for a second consider the wind.

A force, unseen, unheard. Using the trees and the waves of the earth as the messenger.

The most chaotic, In my opinion.

(does anyone give a fuck what I think)

Using trees as the bringer of its message.

That the end comes for us all.

Not a whole lot scares me anymore

Least of all death, but (but)

When I am to go

Let it be the cradling arms of the waves

Or the swift silence of the wind

Or the immense gaze of the sun

That puts me in the darkness of the earth. (To stay or to live again?) Time keeps that secret.