I couldn’t stop thinking.
Of how I was thinking.
Back then, on a boat.
With plenty of fools to rule.
Ongoing state of fiction.
Guiding our way towards a one way.
Of extinction.
Loss of culture.
Point of no return.
It’s the death of a society.
That I used to play a part of before.
Now I know.
I can’t stop thinking.
Of how I was sinking.
Into the unknown.
A reckless, restless, bohemian way to die.
Giving yourself up on what you have been taught.
Giving yourself up.
Giving yourself, simply just giving.
Transaction of energy.
Cannot be revoked.
Cannot be undone.
That has plenty of space.
And loads of fun.
Disjointed chains of mismatched charms.
Never looked good together.
With all hypocrisy.
Decorating necks, painting murals.
Carving up children like rocks.
Blocks of cement.
I can’t help but resent.
Everything about my past.
Except my old version of self.
Thinking about dying in a way that makes me even more attached to my place on our celestial rock.
Wishing to vanish.
Made me nothing but a dull tool.
Fixing up the sail.
Of a holographic boat.
Just like the eight of swords.
Our blindfold is transparent.
Our ties are quite loose.
There is no excuse.
Except for simply not trying.
And I am trying.
I try to start trying.
To think of death as a way of flying.
A way to disconnect.
React.
State all facts.
Of a point of no return.
That was chosen for me.
By everyone.
And everything.
And all the states we could ever be.