we are all dead inside or is it outside I can not tell
all those electrical impulses thrashing through our heart and mind like fire crackers on the 4th of July
the big bang went out a long time ago leaving us as some speck of dirt from some exploding vacuum bag
no Dyson strong enough to erase our existence too bad that is for sure
like a child on a swing, flying too high heeding no warning from below, slow down
your going too fast
as you fly from the seat soaring over the trees no dread of what is below until crash
the landing much harder than you could ever imagine
the brokenness of each limb but nothing so hard as your ego bruised and soul crushed
skinned knees and cracked wrists covering up the internal anguish of another mistake