/i want to taste light. my depression
comes from something above me. i
am a bird who stops mid-flight. i
want to pause and feel the vapour
of my pain come off me. i do not
want to suffer before i die. we all
don’t want to. but there are things
we cannot control, things, vile
things we just have to bend to
sometimes. what shall we say about
a wingless bird, willing itself
everyday to fly? a mountain does
not climb itself. i cannot decide my
fate. everyone tells me they are
drawn to the galaxies in my eyes,
that when they stare at me, they see
hope, they see an eagle, gliding over
high clouds. the day the sun refuses
to set is the day i will die. i do not
know what purpose is. why does
the air roam aimlessly when it is
the most relevant thing? i am in a
thrift, grocery store, bargaining the
meaningless life i’ve got, over a
bowl of strawberries. hunger does
not come to bargain, nor to settle,
nor for consideration. it comes to
rip my insides apart, to show me
that i am close to hell. what shall be
said when i am gone? nothing.
there is nothing special in this
place. turnaround. go/.



Photo by Jason Hafso on Unsplash