And who knows how to talk about it?

And who would bother?

 

On The Rock,

surrounded by ocean,

on a molten ball of dirt,

hurling through space and nothing.

 

This line won't matter.

 

There's a flow to life,

and anxiety scares you into

a lovely, hidden reality of near-death,

when you know you could jump into the breach,

turn your steering wheel in a complete one-eighty,

and embrace the anti-infinity by choice.

 

There are two choices in life you don't make:

Birth and Death,

you are responsible for every other mistake and success.

 

Of course,

you'll lie through your

gritted, stupid, little teeth,

about all the people who wronged you,

and why things didn't go as planned but,

nobody believes it,

they agree to be nice.

 

Your life is your own;

you fail alone,

succedd alone,

and die alone.

 

Life is a selfish act,

and our cages prevent connections.