What did I want?
I used to believe in eternal life.
By that, I thought I meant
my soul would always be somewhere.
There would always be me.
But looking at it refracted,
the spectrum of my lust
has rose wavelengths
for the dead past.
Everything is spiraling.
The whirlwind is sown.
But the sowers are dead.
And it is ours to reap.
I don’t know what I feel anymore.
I don’t know what I think anymore.
I don’t know what’s right or what’s wrong,
or if those are even the right words to use.
I want to be chained to the rock
of certainty and (self-)righteousness.
Convinced of stability and eternity
as the rock crumbles under the weight
of the eons
of my insatiable need
of the inevitable death of the sun.
I want someone to tell me everything will be okay.
I want someone to admit that it won’t.
I hate that both are happening,
and I still don’t feel better.
I hate that I still go to work
like things are okay.
I hate that I can’t make myself do something else.
Something I believe in.
I fear my nieces will choke on the atmosphere
that is their inheritance
and with their last, ragged breath
I will look in their eyes
and their gaze
will curse me for my failures
that have been my inheritance, in turn.
And the curse will be their forgiveness and acceptance
that somehow I couldn’t have done better.
I fear that what I deserve
all the punishment and reward for my life
will never be mine.
I fear that the question
of what I deserve
has no answer.
I hope that this isn’t forever.
I hope that things can be better.