don’t fuck things up

there are a multitude of universes
parallel to this by centimetres,
maybe smaller measurements

(what is distance when calculated by circumstance?
just arbitrary velocity, Einstein)

where
I
don’t
exist
any
longer.

where the wreckage of this vessel they call my body
lays bruised and beaten from the bashings

where the hatred has manifested so purely
that coagulated clots of blood can’t save the heart

yet I grace this surface, from this side up,
gliding.

the circumstances of my demise
are exaggerated for literary effect.

this was not to be in these cards.
But for so many siblings:
It was.

what a chance we get, these folding proteins
that bestow me with breath, circulation and thought.

do not take your presence for granted.
don’t fuck things up.