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,
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?