In solemn death I do suppose Nothing’s open, nor is closed.
But all’s eternal; everlasting pretense future; it’s the last thing
you realize, candied crunch, eyes of wise munch much crunch might take your senses, blindly write like independence – as if anyone could understand this – who may say or nay say proud, extra quiet extremely loud
I’m constantly every emotion my arsenal can provide – teeming with life, I can’t decide what to feel as if I tried, rolling waves surfing rides. I’m a small being, arbitrarily sized immensely overwhelmed by mass of minutia, tiny increments of galactic distribution