Fate

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If you smell a smoke passing me by,
It’s because my body is burning like a rye,
It’s the ashes that graze you,
It’s the weak, burnt down bones,
You hear clacking.
For all I know,
My body is revolting life,
Surviving the daily shenanigans,
The throws and rebukes,
While my heart is all swelled,
Dared, panicked, and drained.

If you hear a growling sound,
Or a creepy humming,
Or a yearn of exhaustion,
It’s, perhaps, my buzzing brain,
My absent mind,
And my thoughts, unbridled.

Don’t take notice of my acts,
Nor my voice,
It’s the sum of uncluttered bits and pieces.
Do I wonder to live?
Do I ponder about life?
Is life passing me by
While contemplating?
Or am I in a haze of living,
While I’m continually, inevitably dying?

Live not, while dying.
Die not, while living.
It’s not in the stars.
It’s rather in the attempts fate resides.