SUMMIT

an obsession with death was better than life with you

I figured an obsession with
death was better than a life
with you.

Morbid, and taboo until it's
your turn to face it and the
delicate bloom and wither of
life--how soon until I go, too?

Bound to be reduced to a
number, a name, a metric,
hardly legible if not faded
on the census sheet. Simply
a scramble of sounds and
letters that most likely mean
nothing to you.

Did you try to believe them,
too? How it only works when
you are in it and can delegate
and fixate on the preference
of pleasure and decision, while
those who live out the reality
are diminished and snuffed out,
coughing on the smoke of the
dimming candle. They never
got to know or experience all
the pretty, shiny and dainty
things you took such daily
pains to discuss and enjoy,
claiming this was a modern-
day, an every person's problem
and matter of the mind. 

How many have taken advantage--
oh, of course not. My apologies.
Of course, of course you are
different from all of the many and
you would never do such an
immoralistic thing. You are different.
Yes.--how many though have 
taken advantage claiming a
gift or secret knowledge, but the
secret found too later was that the
more I followed in your ways, the
more my money and my time and
my hands served you, never I.

This "coming to terms" with how
people almost never mean what
they say, or say what they mean--yes,
you're right. You always are true
and honest in all your dealings. Of
course.--But the idolized community
of my past pointing and saying, "This!
This is the only way to happiness!"
and me whole-hearted believing in it
until the curtain was peeled back,
and I now could understand with
greater wisdom what had been done.
In one way, a great appreciation
emerged in the face of betrayal and
deceit. In the other way, the whole
was gone.

I feel left out, self imposed and only
nature as my audience, its beauty and
its destruction curious and long-lasting,
watching my one person act knowing
how it will end, for it has seen many just
like me, and it will continue to far
outlast anything I could ever do myself.

It's unpleasant to say, then, that I await
death. I still don't want to die physically,
and I still feel that if I ever speak its name,
destruction awaits me.