Sobriety - the Poison That Fades
I'm sober but in a intoxicated way,
when I walk, I mumble to myself
delicately.
The words are like poison.
The acid melts away the compliment
to the barest bones.
I grind them
to make soup.
The worms find themselves confused as they go towards the surface just to be breakfast for a bird who hasn't seen their children in what seems to be years.
As the wind picks up speed, the bird fights through it.
As I did. Is there a battle waging
or is life supposed to be a struggle?
The lungs collapse and the avian angel plummets towards Earth
with only herself to blame.
If we're all God's creation, why did he make us different from one-another?
Why don't we live in complete equality?
Like the decomposing used-to-be's...
Only in death are people the same, we are not meant to know why, if we were privy to this knowledge, we would all die and throw ourselves to the ground in hopes to join them in the soil.
My words feel like toxic, my bones feel weak. I'm a struggler. But I don't know why...
If I just fight for a moment longer, maybe then I will find internal peace, with an external breath.
Because if I don't I only have myself to blame.
I'll make the angels wait.
I still have my concoiusness.
That keeps repeating the same phrase:
"To dust we were formed
and to dust we return.
But dust fades
and poison remains."
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