Dylan Had It Right.

“He ain’t busy being born is busy dying.” Bob Dylan. 1965. It’s alright Ma (I’m only bleeding.)

The death of me I would like to see

Would I then understand the meaning of free?

Perhaps I should take some climbing rope

And hang there like an overused trope.

It is mental here inside my head.

“That’s how it should be” my Mother said.

But she doesn’t know of the secrets I hold

Or of my self hurting like burning gold.

I do not care to remain in this world

With the hatefilled thinkspeak always hurled

From liar to liar, there is nothing more

That I wish to be part of. My flaw.

But there is a vein of care that is love, I believe,

That keeps me from running a blade up my sleeve.

So continue and try to keep trying

Letting death do its best in its dying.

With thanks to Rochelle Silva.