I don’t know where this came from.
Late last night I started writing, while also listening to a loop of Far From Any Road by The Handsome Family (You may know it as the theme song to True Detective). I cleared my mind and wrote whatever my finger tips came out with. I wanted the words to be statements of who I am and how I think. I wanted to be honest to my core.
I didn’t set out to create poetry. Nor do I consider this poetry, I have no idea what to call it. There is no rhyme, just four lines of thoughts. It doesn’t describe a random rusty gate, or the dew drops on rose petals. Nothing like that at all really.
It felt dark, but it also felt real. I was going to delete it, but I opted for this instead. Why not, right?
So whatever this is, it’s what I had to say during a rare moment of clarity. It’s not meant as one long reading. It’s five random thoughts and nothing more.
I’m not afraid of death.
Shouldn’t I be?
Fear is an emotion that escapes me.
Could this be my worst fault?
I have more internal monologue than external.
I always have.
The picture show never stops running.
And I like to entertain myself.
I would change one thing in my past.
I’d tell myself it’s impossible to know everything;
And to always seek knowledge.
I started late, but I’m happy I did.
I’m too cynical.
I don’t think I was always like this.
Or maybe I was, and I wasn’t being honest.
Either way, I’d like to change it.
How much is too much?
When it comes to oxygen, never I suppose.
What about money?
If you answer a certain amount, you aren’t satisfied.
Do Something Good,