TheSearch.

Counting days and imagining numbers,
and the veins of my eyes with an outcry of blood.
I breathed in too hard,
too deep as I draw blanks,
I forgot to breathe out.

Entering the gates that beckon,
visionaries, missionaries speak.
They tell you of the life you once lived,
raving in the moment,
dying for the latter.

Spiraling downwards to a perception of life,
fire at my feet.
He proclaims that this is the first,
the course of the origin,
like the finest steel breeds from fire.
I stood in disillusionment.

They throw me up,
force feeding me the mouth of the recipient.
I return to despair.
Breathing out,
bleeding in,
bleeding out.

Numb to the sense,
numb to perceive,
as every bone crackled at me.
Thus the question.
Why am I still alive?

n-joi