This World Here

Man is afraid to die and spends his life wrestling with this. Turns into the most destructive damaging beast thinking if he can exert power he can save himself. He tells himself stories that he then runs from. He believes his own creations as if they were real. He has lost the beauty of here, of now. As if there is something better waiting for him. He creates a savior and then a sin he needs to be redeemed from. He runs and he runs and he runs. His eyes fiercely shut, slashing everything in his path. Destroying everything of beauty he is too afraid to see. He runs towards redemption, just a story he's told himself. Thinking he can hold onto this fragile beauty that he's never understood. As if what he is now was meant to live forever. And in grasping onto forever he has destroyed what is now. Which was all there was. He burns and reviles the very thing he longs for. He is down on his knees, eyes closed, scrambling in the dark. Turning away from what he is as if it belongs to someone, something else.

He does not understand. He has broken himself and cannot see he is in pieces. Does not understand the healing of it. Biting the hand that reaches towards him.

(I apologize for the use of he and him, I wrote this to a specific man)