Somewhere off the coast of Iceland.
I rarely get manic anymore.
I rarely get anything anymore.
Like I flatlined,
plateaued
that's it.
Out of dreams
out of love
out of fight.
I lived so many life times I lived myself
right out of time.
An undesired borrowed time in a constant state of survival.
Leaves a soul wanting.
Most die wanting.
I anti-wanted.
Less was the most.
Weightless is freedom.
Freedom from want
was connection.
None of it made sense till I was nameless.
In a place I have never been.
With an echo of supreme silence.
The earth stopped spinning just for me.
A nanosecond,
she ceased herself.
Four and a half billion year she waited to whisper this secret.
I was her.
Organic and made of dead stars.
I was a gift
Made of dreams
Made of love
Made of fight.















