this table

So, here I lay at your table. Once so warm, now so cold. I can’t tell if it’s me or the table, though I fear I won’t be able to have a tell over many things now. But even back then knowledge didn’t feel like knowledge, knowing felt like borrowing. Browsing the shelves of my best self, hear what my fortune tells. Living felt like dying. But now that I’m dead, it feels strangely alive. I do not like this table. It’s cold. I did love sun. It used to depart so early, then votes was casted, I was to devote a life, I was to follow it where it lasted. Spend less time without it when it rested. Once so yellow I lay at this grey table with no fellows. I always believed, it deemed such dream that all my fellow men gets recruited and transform into undying flame. I’ve never belonged to any club, not that I wouldn’t belong to one that would have me as a member, I’ve never wished to have a title. Never wished to get tighter. Never had an emblem, maybe sun would have liked that. Table still is, I’m beginning to find out I is getting am. Cold or warm I can’t tell, many storms formed and formed my bed. In it I laid, tonight I left it unlaid, duvets’ frayed ends made with intent. Sometimes I liked it. Wiggled them with my toes. I liked toes. Not every toes. I wasn’t what Quentin Tarantino is. Though I would have licked Salma Hayek’s toes, but can’t stand Quentin Tarantino. He is a sick fiend. On second thought, I wouldn’t lick Salma Hayek’s toes, though I won’t explain why. I’m dead and discussing Salma Hayek’s feet, sweet. What am I gonna say when this table rusts and fades, leaves is place to birds and their babes. What when God finally decides to come and claim this weary body. Will he see I’m made of heart and mighty? How long until I don’t feel this table? I guess I will feel this table until I don’t feel this table. In life I was like that too. I quote Miss Macfarlane: ‘’You are being deliberately obscure as a substitute for having a personality.’’ But that was not the case, I just believed simple is complex enough to not be simplified, if that makes sense. You can’t leave a feeling until it leaves you, and until it does, it must travel past your known past. Enigmatic, in life and in death. If you want to diminish something just say it. I’ve never seen god, so I placed him everywhere. And paid it the respect it ached for. You’ve heard me right, ached for. God needs the soul as much as the soul needs god. A chalice emptied to what was full, still had room to roam. Back from where, home? It doesn’t correspond to where, home’s everywhere. There I go with what the container contained. Heart in a rib cage, brain in a skull, I go without a will, was and before. To become a wind to a stillness, rain to a dry spot, thoughts that will forget a rot. Ask it where it’s from engage in warfare, do everything for a life made of fair. And dust, call it fairy dust, hammer down a dead star, essence of I.