The Aforelife After Death

Winds chilled from the first fresh season of flowery green soft summer





I’m going away from here, and still can’t say.


I’ll arrive there, though,

where it is,

this I can tell.


There I was before


I sensed that, and will go there,

I once thought


but know




Hauled up in a dirty motel room,

performing brain surgery on myself again.

In a room without mirrors–

in a room constructed of mirrors.


Thank You God for letting me exist

for a short time as

one of the sane.

Thank You for letting me see what this is like.

Thank You for letting me stare at Your horrifying blue sky

without terror,

and Your hideous world without pain.

While I am hopelessly lost

in love.

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