My words are cheap
just like me.
I say what comes
to the tip of the tongue
but underneath the letters
is a skeleton waiting
to discard this flesh.
I keep trying to commit to life, living
but I think I prefer death
without the dying
maybe I’m just afraid
Like how the world turns no matter
the begging for it to stop
or how there is always something
that can live in the crevices of death
Because what the fuck does that mean to me?
It’s no comfort to me
that our energy continues to feed
the continuance of this monstrous world’s greed
Because what the fuck does that mean to me
when the earth consumes you
while I’m still above the soil
shedding skin, dying and therefore still living?