A day will come when days will end
When humanity is gone
And scars are erased
And upon that day
That day that I will never see
Will there yet be anyone
Looking out
Upon the universe
Now empty
And will they say
Will they say
That it was worth it

I cannot claim that it was…good
Nor can I say it’s wrong
My life, no more even mem’ry
Anymore
Upon this place
This feeble intersection
Of time and space
Emptied evermore

My deeds, both good and bad
Their purpose seeming without meaning
Pervade my thoughts
But regardless of gain and loss
It is nothing in the end

But I Say
I say to you
I say it was worth it

For what is life!
What are we without compassion, love
There will come a time when
Things will end
But as for now
Our lives are lived

We are broken without
Innocence
But we still are
Mending

And one day
Fixed


“I fear oblivion,” he said … “There will come a time,” I said, “when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this”—I gestured encompassingly—”will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that’s what everyone else does.” 
~John Green, via Hazel Grace Lancaster and Augustus Waters, The Fault in Our Stars

Like verbal synesthesia,
    ^{snap
       crackle
         pop}
in my head.
Words go

_{bang bang bang}

and all I think are flashes.

Computer fans are white noise
and clicking keys a melody.
I sleep on piles of books
and tell myself bedtime stories
that never, ever end.
It’s the same one, every night.
  ^{over
     and over
       and over
         and over
           and over…….}
I edit, even in my head.

One color brings four hundred synonyms to mind
and the feeling of fabric is like a burst of light.
Looking at a photograph is often over whelming,
and all I want to do is know what
they were thinking,
not what I am.

It’s a curse and a blessing,
on a wing and a prayer,
and a hundred other cliches
that will never go away.

Here’s to the over active imagination
that won’t stop finding the meaning in everything.