Beauty is Life

Beauty slaps it’s beating heart in my face.
Every day. Every day.
It’s blood splatters all over me and it falls into my hands.
I choose to put it on a pedestal
For worship.

Because what is life without its beauty?
It’s dreary and not worth it.
What is beauty without life?
I don’t think it exists.
How do we even distinguish them?

No questions please,

A part of me feels like dying
And why shouldn’t I be able to ebb and recede?
Nature does it!
And aren’t we all just a stack of bones dutifully reflecting our nature out into our world?
I’m part drunk and stampeding through rough bush in thongs and boardies,
Crashing through trees,
like waves crashing on me.
On the verge of sobs.

I’m part able not to be sad because that’s who I am.
But right now, right now a part of me still feels like dying.
Why can’t I just kill that part!
I am in a fog.
The more I let myself feel this.
The more I’m gonna feel this.
But I want it to encroach me,
A part of me wants it.
Right now, at least
I want to feel it so bad.
I feel like my chest is about to explode.

A part of me feels like dying but I have too much pride to die.
Too much love
Too much expectation.
Too much to give.
I’m desired, like a lot of us.
I’m destined to live with hopelessness like a lot of us.
Let it sit in our backdrop and make snide remarks and pervade the colour scheme.
Luckily my brain is smart enough to deal with this here.

A part of me feels like dying.
And it’s dreadful.
Is it because there is nothing left to buy?
Is it because there is always more to buy?
But I don’t have enough cash for it,
Is it really desire?
Am I really feeling this depressed over money?
Am I just tired or drunk? Stressed or confused? Excited and confused?
Stressed, confused, excited, confused, tired, confused and drunk.

Do I need there to be something wrong with me?

Get a fucking grip man.