Surge and shake,
vein in my belly.
I watch you shiver
under skin.
Nothing feels right,
comfort is nothing,
my peace is nothing to me.
If the world works, that’s enough.
I think, often, that I am dying
of any of the diseases
I know I have, or one of the ones
I suspect I have. Who cares if I do?
Some will be sad, more or less.
I won’t be, though. I’ll be gone
and maybe the world will be better,
maybe it won’t.
What one does or does not do
might make up for nothing or everything
that has happened. But death, now or
tomorrow — what’s to fear
from one event? Big deal, says the mind.
Big deal indeed, says the heart. And the vein
in my belly says: coming, dear. We’re
coming soon, neutral on arrival. What is, just is.
