Why must I start at the beginning?
Because, try as you might, you can’t not.
The point you deem the end is a beginning.
Always something sparking,
something else burning out.
You shouldn’t be here.
False intoxicated cool;
foolish bravado moved your feet
in their too-small boots,
your hot pink safety net torn to shreds.
The present is restless:
a life and your death
the sum of history and butterfly wings.
There’s an audible click,
the gun, the solution
and a long cry
and the big bang.
Consciousness gained in repose;
a masterpiece animated
for me
alone.
In your wake,
I mend.