Weather Not Permitting

 

The air is marbled with smoke

The cremation of us all into clouds

Us all raining down on our own parades

By whatever means necessary

 

Becoming what I’m scared of

Being scared of what I am

Not being scared to be scared

Terrifically terrified, always, of course

 

Dying is the point of the living is it not?

Where is your elsewhere?

I got lost on my way there

And found myself with yourself in the lines of this poem

 

Published at Terror House Magazine