n0t a waste 0f space.

afraid

i am afraid of losing belief.

the security of knowing what's next.

the blanket that wraps me in "it's all okay's"

and the finality and purpose it gives me.

i am afraid of time and space

that i'm running out and not taking up enough

that i take up too much and selfishly exploit

atoms and molecules that suffer my voice.

i am afraid of being wrong

building a house on a foundation of sand.

the flawed nature of perception

and the innocent guilt of man.

because we craft our crafts with careful methods,

methodically making art.

creative creatures crawl the cosmos

dependent on fragile hearts.

no, literally--i'm not being poetic,

our hearts are just vessels and tissues and blood

and our brains are the most understandably complex organ

that rattle recklessly in thin skulls.

what's next? immortality gets dull

and makes our lives specks

but death is terrifying

to think that i won't exist.

pressure, compression, suffocation, endure

the need to create something to last forever

because i won't. i am timed, i am a bomb

waiting to explode and hope

my shrapnel falls into place

my wreckage as art, not my heart

because i won't be here forever, so something needs to.

we can't just not exist can we?

there's got to be something.

i am afraid because i do not know

and i'm losing my mind,

suction, vacuums of space and time

black holes, black souls, grey tones, white bones

i weave a tapestry of insanity

because i can't sew together reality.