time to shut down

reanimation:
a flower opening.
closing.
it grows, matures
then dies, decays,
reverts.

cold, then warm.
one side closed off,
the other, inviting.
too many thoughts,
too much love,
too many wishes

disbelief and loss
of memory,
of thought.

fear still courses
through veins and capillaries.
through muscles, fat,
bones, marrow.

anatomy is a reoccurring subject.
loving strangers who remind you of
brothers.
it all intertwines in some
way.

stress melts.

you are sure this time,
acute,
aware of the warnings,
and you are sad, but happy.
you dream of this each day,
create a tragedy,
in which you win;
and this is never the case.

you know, this time.
you are aware
and you have no care.
you're alright,
you have acceptance.

this time,
you're ready.
you know your own worth
you know your boundaries
your importance,
appearance,
morality,
and personality.

this time,
you wish and wish,
and never get.
but you are sure,
when the time comes
you still wont be ready;
still, you will melt
will perspire,
will dissipate.
you will revert,
you will accept.

this is something you are used to
something you will always know.
something
you will always let go.

you are omniscient.
you are God,
in some ways.

you believe in yourself,
at times,
you hate yourself,
at times,
and to your own thoughts,
you do not exist,
sometimes...

this is the end of a beginning.
for lives are long
but love is not.
and this you know more than anyone.

for you,
you're done.
but you still smile,
still laugh,
still produce what is expected.

you know the products,
the results

but everything to you,
it's nothing.

you act, you play
you decide, you roll
eyes and gears.
everything to you is nothing.

you know what he wants, desires
thinks and loves.
you can't stop it,
and you don't want to.

you just let life take its course
let is run on and on
and nothing to you,
it's everything.

it's all a repeat
all familiar,
and you hope to do it
again

and again.