It's Just So.

© 2012 from Today's Journal by Rob Krabbe

I know you don't understand
about the questions, the choices;
to listen or not listen to the voices, but
why is death so much to you really?

Here, slowly . . . touch me,
run your fingers across me;
bring me to new life,
from this rancid death.

Be selfless, whole and in sacrifice, free.

In a single moment of love making,
we become perfect.

The promise, without the premise.

Intimacy, no distance; romance it, roll it around between your fingers.
Dress it up high, and sensual like an art-house nude.

The best things are not so wise in the long haul.

Nothing is quite as momentary as a good hard erection.
No answer as perfect as the last breath.

I'll spell it out for you:
I don't want to pull the trigger.

I just need desperately,
to truly live,
and to do that,
I need to believe
that I can die.