The dead man in my stomach turned over in his sleep inside me this morning making me sick with anticipation.
The coming storm was not content to let me sleep, either.
Prayers for peace went unanswered until after whirlwinds hit:
It’s not the end of the world, but I can’t help but to feel I can see it’s edges
I’m certainly dying, but I can feel something rising
Don’t we all die to live anyway?
If this is pain there must be beauty on its way;
Can I live to see it?
I don’t believe this is the end, even though my body quakes at what it sees coming
I may die, but I will live to the other side.