Fear and Laziness

There’s this something,

This lonely,

This steadiness that I fear.

letting time leave me.

intruding thoughts distract me,

distract myself, with boredom

easy.

tv & movies

short lunches with lazy conversations

no new ideas

Sameness & Ordinary.

Ignorant & Ungrateful.

My grandfather died,

before I read his life story. 

Im 18,

and I have no memories.

or I've forgotten them.

And i’m afraid i’m dying,

That I'm already old.

I feel the deep,

black marble

logged within my core

radiating cold death.

fear, loss, nothingness,

worthlessness and worthless waste.

inside, I am screaming.

It’s not enough. 

I do not have enough time.

that white light,

that makes me breath,

is decaying.

perhaps in this 

circumstance,

I wish to be religious.

But, no.

that would only cheapen it.

My beauty, what I do have.

This sky at night,

glowing blue and backlit

the circle moon

permeating through the fog

making the mist, seem permanent.

or that it should be.

Knowing it, and I, am not.

Its ephemeralness making it 

more beautiful.

every moment, gorgeous,

must happen somewhere in time.

Hopefully, I will reach

as many points as possible

on the map,

as I trace my line.

I hope it will not be short.

I have a steady hand,

but no one knows

when their pen will run out of ink.

manufacturers make shortcuts.

but I must remind myself

That what matters is to write.

Not the quality of my pen,

or how much ink it holds,

or even the sloppiness 

of my script,

who reads it,

Only the words

I manage to make out.

so I write, and I will write,

and then one day,

I will die.