In truth every moment is a dying
Every moment is the end of your life
as who you where
and the beginning of your new life as how you choose to be
the secret to life is to die, die a lot
Don't let death be a one time thing
Don't wait until the end of your life
Die right now and in each moment you see you realize you're born again
you recreate yourself anew and the next version
of the greatest vision you ever held about who you are
That's the whole purpose of life
Prologue
Purple skin
painted orange,
an empty husk
dressed like a man;
the world spins,
off balance,
staggering drunkenly
through empty space
while I search for its edge.
Blank eyes
hidden by stitched lids,
hands folded
over a still chest;
the sun burns
brighter yet,
indifferent rays
warming a hollow
for the dead.
White roses
brown and wilted,
a thousands farewells
on deaf ears;
the stars grow tired
and the clocks
tick, tick, tick.
while I feel it in my bones:
someday I will live again.
Nothing To Fear
Don't we all die every night?
Isn't that place we go when sleeping
the same place we go in death?
We close our eyes
and lose all control
and our mind reviews our lives
giving us the power for lucid change
if we care to harness it.
When we sleep
those who have passed over
appear
going about chores
serving meals at family gatherings
young, healthy, as they were in photo albums
loved pets rub against us
and we can fly.
Death comes to us
in bits and pieces
every night
showing us
there is nothing to fear.
death via texting
the first time i died
she told me about
her boyfriend.
he lived in sweden
where she was staying
for a year.
far away from me.
i felt bad for being angry,
it wasn't her fault
she left the country,
and it was surely a great
experience.
we were never official
but i was her friend.
we sat next to each other
on the bus.
and i would always watch her
trying to make her laugh
and wishing i could
be her laughter.
the first time i died
i was eleven
too young to die
but the perfect age
to be broken.
i died a million times
he said
you are the most
uninteresting
person
i know
and i sat there
and took it
but sis
when a man makes
you cry
march him down
to the couch
and get him the next flight
out
i wrote my first poem
right after i thought i died
ink pirouetted on the insides
of cigarette packs, ass floored
with a mind leaking out my ears
it started off with
“I wear hiking boots in my room”
and it hasn’t ended yet
First Death
Heh, that was a long time ago.
But then again, it wasn't that long ago.
Actually it hasn't even happened yet.
The first time I died, I found myself drowned,
a knife stabbed into my chest,
as I struggled to breath.
Blood dripped from my chest, flowing into the water,
like a shark had attacked me within the depths.
Then I was waking up again,
almost three hundred years before.
At first, I wondered if this was real.
But seeing the old presidents live in person
cemented the fact that it was.
See death doesn't work on the linear timeline.
Once you die, you jump to somewhere else on the timeline.
It could be the future
the past
the present
Anytime, anywhere, with any looks that one could imagine.
That's what I learned,
upon my first death.
Blood and Fruits
The first time I died, the last thing I saw was my brother.
I felt the hot pain in my back as I fell face first into the field of flowers we used to play in and reached out in hopes that he would help me.
I must've forgotten that he was the one who killed me in the first place.
And when questioned about me he claimed he knew not where I was, so now he is lost.
A soul left to wander in exile for the rest of his years.
my first death.
It was normal Wednesday night.
The Earth didn’t break in half, the sky didn’t fall down and the wave didn’t hit my house.
But it might as well have.
If you’ve dealt with depression you may know this feeling, if you haven’t you can’t possibly imagine it.
I didn’t know at first what happenned. The light has gone and I was surrounded by the sudden darkness. And the Sun has been rising since then but it stopped reaching me. I found myself in a constant shadow.
And you know, it’s been hard before but I’ve always had this childish fire of hope inside of me - the one that was getting me through the day and making me believe that things will get better.
But the matches were taken away from me and I cannot light it up anymore.
It takes everything in me to get up each day. Sometimes I don’t. I just let things happen to me. I stopped living, I started existing.
I go out to people and I’m the life of the party.
Then the party is over and so am I.
I try to catch breath but I have all these worries on my chest. I try to sleep but I don’t want the morning to come. I try to think about future but I can’t even imagine tomorrow.
And it’s another sleepless night when I try to rewind my footsteps and see when did I turn into the wrong way. The way that led me slowly and quietly out of my life. I think of that day.
It was normal Wednesday night.
Pages Torn.
Only 2 pages in that book remain, thinking about it nearly drives me insane.
We were young, only 6 years old but those words stung.
You were taken away too soon, every night I look to the moon.
As if there were a way to say goodbye, as here I lie.
You were only 2, I begged for someone to tell me it wasn't true.
My first death, was the day you took your final breath.