Control

One of life's many tempting offers is to flee the scene when a better one comes.  The truth of the matter at hand is that if you spend your whole life running you'll miss out on the old familiar that plants its memories into the roots of your brain.

You'll suddenly look in the mirror and see those grey specks, you'll wonder when the wrinkles formed, and you'll hope to God you die a fast and painless death.

I often contemplate death.

In fact, you could easily note that I obsess about death.

The fact that nobody really knows what happens, because there is no physical proof.

My mind is a constant rotation of different people or memories that wither. 

I fast forward to my dog lying in my arms dying, or to the day when I stand in front of my mothers casket bleeding my eyes out with hate.

It's not morbid, it's a growing curiosity that will hopefully build endurance to take the edge off  the day these events takes place.

We never know, that's the truth.


DANDELION:

The dying dandelion hung by the nape of its neck.
It watched as the sun beat down on its fellow friends and took their lives before it.
Blades from a lawnmower attempted to behead, but the brave little dandelion was victorious.
Dry, without water, the sun tried even harder to kill the delicate weed, but its life continued to flourish.

Alone in a sea of green, the dandelion missed its friends and dwelled on days past, until a little boy plucked it from the garden and flipped its top off with his thumb chanting, "Mama had a baby and its head popped off!"