aging tree, in forest swamp

 


   closing eyes each night as if for the final time; subconsciously; one's paralyzed; my programmed mind holds graditude for each glimpse of what was and or could have been paradise;


 each rise, to stare one's reflection from the mirror; cold water to one's face to signify the physical side of what it means to be alive;


the words; one could never find because to be alive or rather live again, is to feel stranger than the day before; grateful of course to visualize the goodness of what comes from life;


what could've been; what could've been; what really could it have been; when observation hosts this flesh of mine; time and time again

a dream state feel; like when your body isn't yours; that thin line between decay and balance; indeed is an obstacle coarse....

the feeling's very cold and strange; to witness life another day....