I sit and stare at the days that pass by.
I have a cold, long hard look. All that remains.
Some old dusty fragment hidden inside an inside an ancient book. Buried, forgotten.
No communication, only passive participation.
Dependent on the number, what are the odds?
Who decides your fate? What is luck but a flip of a coin, a failed move on a chessboard.
Endless possibilities, endless failures.
making and breaking us all, these days.
These days, all I see is a bright light. Sometimes it’s distant. Excitement finds me somewhere hidden beneath a rock.
Like an unknown dust particle sucked by the laws of nature into the very depth of all existence.
The abyss goes deep, my friend.
A lot deeper than it seems.
I touched the other side once, all I heard was static.
Saw a ghost of a past, a destructive future.
I couldn’t change my past. Rode through it on a motorbike half-screaming half-dead.
Felt more real, more hurtful.
What cuts is deeper, what heals is worth the pain.
All I see is an epiphany. All I feel is intervention.
A future, somehow disconnected.
Moments like these are common at ten past two in the morning.
I ask myself what is worse.
Waiting an eternity for sunrise or never finding solace at dawn.
It’s all worth it, not.
But the sun knows.