As I Sit Burning

The moment I was born is the moment I began dying. Dying to live; living to die. Everything, everyone. Even the skin particles that flake off and ultimately become dust. Even they'll die too. Some day.

Like a flash in the pan. Here one moment, gone the next. Don't blink because you'll probably miss it. So I just stapled my eyes open.

I'm in agony right now. But I'm not moving an inch. If trees can do it, so can I, right? They burn like all of us do. Except they don't run around, screaming at the top of their lungs. Don't bump into others and ignite them into a ball of flames. Don't destroy everything they touch.

Just fucking stop already.

Dropping and rolling are optional. Nothing can retard this process. So just let it take its course. There's no stopping it.

In truth, if you put something under enough pressure, combustion is bound to happen. All you need is a little oxygen. A little fuel. A little spark. That seems to be everything the Earth provides us. That seems to be our ingredients; our recipe. That seems to be our destiny.

Shhh. Just stay still. And burn.