The Last Mermaid

~ 2 ~

Anxiety sitting on my chest, going nowhere
Of preemptive grief, feeling that nothing is in our control
Had a dream of my father, and he was not human
He did not talk, but I understood every word

He did not show any expression
I wonder if, a while after we die, the ego fades out and we become a sum of being
As infinite and calm as breath
Independent of source, and just as equally lost to it

It was easy to call people at first
I should be grateful, I mean, I already lost someone, and many had begun losing others
Lately, however, I find myself with less to say
Have anxiety and it's giving me a headache

Feel the breath in my chest, and wonder if it's good enough to just be
Why does everything feel more sensitive, more fragile?
Missed calls flying off into the forgotten void, we could all be doing something more productive
But we are all suffering collective shock

There's nothing more to say except this - sometimes grief feels like it's eating you from the inside
It sits upon your words, and plagues you with impermanence
You try to fight it, typing away into the computer, traveling long distances to pretend everything is fine
A stink bug sits on your dad's book, begging you to laugh

There's nothing really comforting about death
And though, try to fight it, life is the slow long procession full of idleness and meandering that may make sense, but usually makes no sense at all
There's nothing really nice about those in charge - they usually just want your money
And society, like grief, sitting in its shadow - desperately wishing everything would make sense again