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