darling, do you know when you truly start to live?
no, when?
well let me tell you then. you truly start to live when the cells in your body malfunction perhaps from the clogging of you veins and arteries or maybe from one too many sleeping pills but that doesn't matter. it doesn't matter the way you die for it is after that counts.
after is when they put you in a coffin or simply dig a hole six feet down into the earth - the latter would be the most preferable - or maybe they pile you on top of another in the dumpster in the dark side of fifth avenue - you know, that neighborhood that your mother warns you about the lurking men and the starving women.
which way do you want to die?
hush, darling, i am not finished yet, although the second of the choices i listed would be great for the next step. anyways, you truly start to live when all you see is a kaleidoscope embedded on the inside of your eyelids and when your irises become an imperial bright violet and when flowers grow from your stomach.
your heart turns to stone and your skin blushes pink in all the right places and your hair is silky and you are immortal, darling. when you can't be hurt that is when you truly live because we all live with at least a few ounces of fear nestled deep in our heart and even that is enough to hold us back.
darling, do you understand?
yes, i think i do.
- VIEWPOINT OF A CYNIC [ALTERNATIVELY NAMED: WITH HEARTS OF STONE AND FLOWERS BLOOMING FROM OUR STOMACHS - 7.1.16]
YOU ARE READING
OF THE LIKE
PoetryLIKE THEM; the cunning, the strong, the rational, the sensual, the rash. POE19 [151016]
