This Ghostly Woman

I’m indeed bereaved to house this woman in my soul and clothe her in my unanimous body. Grits of pain and misconceptions.

I have a room filled with surprises and ugly monopolies. Another, with truths I’d never tell and lies I’ll take till I’m two days away from my death day.

Presumptively to die two days from my death day would be my wish, so I can speed things up like I always do.

Being present in life means I’ve to choose to live every other day. Decisions like this got me this far, and I’m forced to see that life is in my head, death is but a gory imagination. Fate, like a bracelet wriggling my wrist every other day.

Each ugly distance from dawn to dusk shows me how my soul is clothed within me. The haste within which the year runs hastens my assumptions of an ethereal end.

To soothe my soul, I’ve to stay alive, live well, and be conscious of the beauty of the world.

Even in my insecurities, I must believe that a cheery future is set aright.

Like a passenger in life’s vehicle, I get hit once in a while by her aching roads. Thank God I brought my helmet!

The way we live with caution, expecting life to come right at us with roses. That is the way we die, expecting a golden casket, for a wooden casketly life.

Hold your life together, find grace, choose your fate, speak to the creator, and march your soul forward with no expectation for the future, beyond that which is carved within your present.

Stardust and broken glass 

Victoria. O,

En route 2021.

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TheVictoriaO