Everything’s eventual.There’s no denying it: The mountains will fall, oceans rise, skys turn, sun burn, birds fly, lovers will call.
I am dying one word at a time, one line after line. Each breath is one less, every beat a counting down. Every kick of my goad slows nothing, bruises purple.
No, I must kiss my leper, must embrace my prod. For I’ve not yet won the world, and I’m afraid I’ve lost my soul.