Rebirth

Write, write fast, furious and go. Go, don’t stop.1

Write about your life, write about you, just keep going, god damn it write until your heart doesn’t feel like its going to explode. It’s the emotion running through you like a volcano, slowly starting to begin with, threatening to burst out with the music, as the music keeps going, getting faster, your heart does, your beat does, the writing does, the typing does, and typing of what you may ask? Well anything, just type, type what you can, and don’t worry about what you can’t its not worth it, just keep going…2

Rest, pause, and think about your life. Where are you going, where did you come from? Sitting here in the autumn rain, among damp rusting leaves, falling slowly around you, twirling, dancing, anything to get away from you. They fall, and fall, as the colours change, the fires, reds yellow’s oranges’ browns, fall from the sky, raining fire, dead fire though, decomposed rotting fire. But it’s so pretty, as you jump into that pile of fire, wanting it to engulf you. Just jump, jump for your life, other’s life’s into this huge pile, pile…wanting it to catch you, and it does, as the adrenaline runs through you, and you’ve landed, you’re home, among the fire. Close your eyes, and you’re invincible, in that one moment, you’re God.3

But then reality zooms back in again, and there you are, in the soaking rain, covered in crap from the leaves, digging into you, poking your bare skin, cuts and bruises galore. And there you are bottom of the ecosystem again, right where you belong. With all the trash, that’s been thrown in, wrecking the dying fire are old crisp wrappers, and rotted apple cores thrown as carelessly as paper is wasted.  And for a moment, around the tall tree’s you wonder how many have been killed, how many have been used, how many will die the same fate? They bend over you, wise and old, as if the whispering winds tell them secrets that you can’t have. As if you’re not allowed to own the knowledge…4

And it doesn’t matter that you’re at the bottom, because you can’t feel it, nothing is there, just peace. No other emotion, fills you as you sit cross legged, in the pile of damp autumn leaves, watching spiders crawl over your legs, and ants crawl over your arms, head back, leaves as a pillow, waiting for the day to turn to night, wanting to spend the night out here…5

Just one more night, it’ll be ok in the morning, as another downpour of rotting fire falls on top of your head, providing the blanket. The darkness falls, and all is still once more, and the bitter sound of hurt floats up and away with the wind, as you curl up and fall into a dreamless sleep once again. 6

Rebirth is bittersweet. 7