Silly, childish passions

Lined up, waiting for the slaughter.

They’re growing out of it.

I’m growing into it.

Flying backwards into life

And I don’t know the answers.

Back up plans?

Bank accounts?

Doubts.

No.

This is what I live and breathe.

Cut my skin, it’s what I’ll bleed.

It’s this or death.

No in between.

So live without a house

And live without dinner.

Because this is living.

This is a dream.