As the dust crawled across the floor

and onto the furniture around him,

he looked more like a musician than

ever before, the rigor mortis

gripping him, stiffening his body

into a catatonic plank, a walkway

for the air around him to ramp off of;

He looked more like a human, than

a savage, at peace in his own home,

as the dust gathered around him,

as the police forced his door in

a mere six months after the onset

of his healing, of his curing

of the ultimate disease.

As they carried him out, I could swear

that he winked at me, as a piece

of dust landed on my jacket and I

walked on to work that day.

—————

So the news came the other day, it would seem that my brother may potentially have lung cancer. I figured this day may come eventually, because he used to smoke a lot. It's true, it saddens me, but I can not help feel as though… I am upset in him. He very well knew it could happen, and yet he continued to smoke back when he did. Well, that's what happens in life. Some people… they hurt themselve intentionally, be it to cope, be it because it give them attention, be it because it gives them a meaning.

My neglect is obvious, my neglect for many things. I've lost the interest in a lot of things, yet gained interest in many more. I can not be consistent, and yet, I can; as an opportunist, as a human, I continue to function.

I've just been reading lately, I've just been writing lately. My music has been slow, my everything has been slow, but it has been. Life is great, I guess.

Only real thing of interest was that I graduated from high school.

Go me.