Three Thirty Existential Crisis


I’ve realized through trial and error

That the one thing I want in life

Is to be found.

Not the kind of found that you see

In movies or read

About in books.

I want that existential crisis.

Bring on 3:30pm poetry,

Nights of no sleep.

Give me whispers in tree branches-

Before the birds wake,

The quiet hum

Of highway,

And the deep rumble

Of old worries that I don’t know what

I am made of let alone where I am going.

All I know is that I am constantly in a state of transition:

Living and dying.

Some days are better than others

There are moments where every atom

But save one, feel death creeping in on protons

And all the electron shells constrict,

Sucking the air from my lungs

And space becomes empty of meaning.

Except, there is one goddamn atom,

One simple building block,

And it refuses to stop my heart

Let alone give up on me.

Give me hands drunk off craft beer,

Painting a thunderous sky

Bright orange.

Become fully invested in the theory

That I am nothing more or less

Than the expansion of dreams

That refuses to be only skin deep.

Thank you morning for your impeccable timing.

To bed. To dream. To my inevitable disaster.



Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741