Existential Crisis (If)


I want to either
live forever or die. Now.

I want to dissolve,
fall asleep unaware. Yet,

I wonder,
who brings the gift of tomorrow?

I never make decisions.
I am contradictions,

brief moments of falling,
stuck in space.

I never leap
so deep
i can’t resurface.

You know
Virginia Woolf
put rocks in her pockets. I have a collection from travels. Labeled, scraps of paper, organized memories. They speak in dreams.

I dream of going away. I beg to be let go. God never listens.

Riding soft waves,
I weigh me down in hope,
hoping the waves
wrap around,
swirling,
going down.


If we do not speak of the ugly
how can we understand beauty?
If we do not fill-up with wisdom
how dare we speak?
If we do not beg life to end
how can we begin to live?

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