There is evidence
of the afterlife and heaven
all around us.
Hell is selfmade and organization
is the only way I can ticket on
in blame of my woes.
Self-transparent to the mind
and I’ve been incubating instead of rotting. Ready to rather and mime
instead of nice and kind.
Waiting for it.
Sickness looks like this, so does disability.
Unkind fates for the stronger to become apparent.
Saviors in disguise and angels I’m too contempt sometimes bring the difference.
8s and 5s 8s and 5s 5s and 8s and the ladder fell
And I was nearly tucked inside square,
I didn’t even hit my head.
Moments apart.
And moments before I saw the eeriness
And knew.
And I looked at tarot blanket and knew
And mini backpack and knew.
Death has a lingering feeling and has been taken up too much in my life.
Seeds are not dormant.
And I’ve planted many of mine.
Even if I broke every outside chair to get there, the freezer is a prop worthy to hold me up.
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