We will die as we’ve lived —
Frozen in place waiting for the headlights to put us out of our misery,
Or spreading wings to fall in love with every new moment.
So we better decide how we want to die while we’re still living…
Still seeing, feeling, diving in the depths of the present.
There is no greater gift than the attention you give yourself,
Than the lifeline you throw over to your sinking sense of hope,
Your flailing purpose that has been tested time and again.
Flexed to breaking point like a branch against a cyclone.
All the rejections, the countless times you’ve felt like giving up —
Putting down the typewriter, filing for bankruptcy, closing the shutters.
Hiding your dreams up in the attic because the risk is just too big,
The risk of not living up to the person you hoped to be.
Oblivion dresses up in satin lingerie and presses up against you,
She lets her hair down and places her head over your chest at night,
Whispering in your ear that you should just give up.
Luring you in with the promise of anonymity,
That cozy blanket under which you can hide your frail self.
The sensual allure of amnesia,
Where there is nothing to lose and no one to become.
The asylum where dreams go to retire,
The cemetery where all your budding potential is buried.
Only because you were unable to love your present self,
In the same way that you lusted over your future.
Take a dose of practicality,
Lose the fear of just being enough,
Let go of self-judgement and let yourself be…