Image Credit: alexandra135
Themes of death seeped
into my dreams as a child
streams of existential guilt
flowing into scenes of judgement
and descents into an eviscerating eternity.
Over and over.
Maturity first bred weariness,
Deep in teenage flux,
Twisting through the purpose of my time,
Preordained or to be determined,
My thoughts anchored in morbidity.
"For I did not choose to be."
Alas I did not implode, but rather,
Surrendered to the fevers of thought,
A victim reduced to mere survival,
till the burden set me free.
Now impassioned by mortality I see...
It was a black mirror to peer inside,