Fanciful Fantasies For Fatalists

Dancing on the edge of a razor and stool as my ropen neck tie stands taught in two dimensions. This precarious balancing act in which life consists stands directly in the way of cold embracing bliss offered by abyss. And, I’m drowning. Choking on what’s good and what isn’t anchors me in a state endured but not desired. And, I’m tired. The sunset on the horizon brightens and clears me as it does with the land but not with the same intensity. Though, it does with my shadows. It does with my shadows. Why, in some ways the land and I reflect as I with pond and mirror but in others as with I and stone. It’s a conundrum that I ponder quite often but never seem to tread. And sometimes…I wish I were dead.