written live on august 2, 2021

Everyone is dead.

These pictures hanging by a clothes pin along a string in this room- can’t miss them.  I put them there.  I made them visible on purpose. But all it has done is fill me with conflicting joy and despair.  And it’s overwhelming.

Well, not everyone is dead.  Not yet.

Some are closer than others but that’s only an illusion.  Those that seem far from may be closer to than the seemingly predictable ones.  So it seems through the lens of illusion, it is more natural to expect elderly and sick people to be the one’s closer to death than the more youthful, healthy-looking people- even though some in their 20’s, or not yet so, have already died.

I still fall for the illusion- that young people live longer than old people.

I scroll through the contacts on my phone… and I see dead people.  I can’t get myself to delete them. Why?  Is it that hard?  Something inside of me finds meaning in remembering a dead someone, even for a moment, whether they mattered much to me or not.

I do this even though it weighs down my mood, affecting my behavior and decisions.  It beckons depression, which has always been somewhat alluring to me.  These subtle reminders- these subtle kicks to the groin of my emotions- are more likely kicking out my knees making me stumble and fall.


Often I try to remain humble,

              To be fair and true to it all.

Often it makes my stomach churn, and my mind fumble,

              A dead stare, and a momentary stall.

Often my awareness returns, mid-stumble,

              When it is too late… and I fall.

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