everything

there were dying trees. a couple deep darkened red, maroon, pale and orange leaves dotting their blackened limbs. grey skies, cold, wet, a steady rain blurred the fractal swirls and comfort i had achieved at the spark of a flame, the inhalations, exhalations of carbon monoxide. the cancer, the control factor in the equation to determine the line plots on my life. they filled my lungs with fluid, they turned them black and tarred. eaten alive from the inside out, in the vice grip firmly clenching my lungs, drowning, suffocating slowly. it was easy to find x on a line plot within the margins i had set.

naked in front of the mirror, a lazy right eye, slightly smaller than the left, asymmetrical borders that blurred where the two colors met, a simple term used to hide the shades, and undertones that were the tools in the masterpiece before my eyes. the roman empire constructed itself on mathematical formulas, aqueducts that brought "life" to the rich, and the poor alike. they drank from the fountains of clear cut lines, they lived by the equation and died by it. over a thousand years later here we are again. the haunting specters of everything that could be seen driving their cars, in the malls, choking on force fed salaries to the point where they just want more and more to put them down sooner than later. the crumbling walls of rome ran all the way to washington dc. their jagged edges couldn't hold back the nuances that put the curves to my naked image in the mirror and the beauty i saw under all the empty suits and dresses on the subway. as their trains speed on, they fade back to the rough sketches, the blurry lines from which they were designed. we were never sketched, we were never drawn out, and we were never designed. there are no jagged edges to the human body, and the emotions that make us conscious and alive could never be attached to numbers.

we are living. if i flatline you will be there, he will be there, she will be there to keep me breathing. when my time comes i will feed the grassy fields set to golden skies that outline your image for all to weep, and cry out at in awe. there is no way we could ever be controlled forever. we are barbarians. we will stand out, we will tear down the walls of rome and watch their remains crumbling like statues to a god that none of us ever found, yet we will shine the mirrors of appreciation upon each other and see what sets us apart from the huns.

in the greatest of tragedies, the most smiling of comedies everything is beautiful. everything has gone spinning out of control, it always was, and i couldn't possibly think of anything more gorgeous, more compelling, more of a motivation to carry on.

i'm in love with my perspective, the seasons, the cycles, the shock and awe of the rising sun, the gravity of spinning satellites that keep my feet far off the ground.