spitting hearts

smile for me

worrying winds

not sure where to start if ever

im becoming less comforted by my own flames

and more weary of fleeting feelings

moments that have amber qualities

and shatter proof existences.

too frequent

it's almost like the more content

the less interesting

i seem

don't forget me

today i stumbled on a blog

it was written by a guy who died of cancer.

he started his blog when he was diagnosed

and ended it with his imminent demise

i found it because he also has a wealth of info pertaining to
ghost towns, and old mining camps

heavy stuff...perspective

mas gatos menos pacos

to the other places

my maker is giving me signs, mostly about my shortest of comings.
my dreams are quicksand until i awaken
my thoughts are concrete until we speak
my life is shortened by knowing you at all

this writing is being burned into replaceable
this author is having thoughts of the finale.

it's true

you shit yourself

when you die