Hedge every bet. Lick every boot. Make every appeal. Prostrate yourself to the killing machine to spare yourself from it’s wheels. “Better them than me” rolls so seductively off your tongue. Your reckoning has begun. 

In spite of endless war, extinction level events, depredation and plague, every one of your ancestors survived to reproductive age. The probability that you are even here is next to none. Hey! No pressure everyone!

When shit got dark I had to face it alone. There’d be no crying for help. It’s just how I’m wired; I’ve had to figure shit out my whole life by myself. I ain’t saying it’s cool; it’s fucked up. Truth be told it’s cost me a few friends. But sometimes you must protect yourself. 

Motherfucker, I’m resourceful, resilient. I power through the waves of disappointment. Maybe not quite thriving but I’m buoyant. I am at peace these days (give or take a fit of blinding rage). 

I can’t seem to shake the belief that there’s a liminal state between death and rebirth in which you and me reconvene. Oh yes, I’m really fun at parties. Draw a dink on my face with a sharpie. Excuse me sir, this is an Arby’s. I am at peace. 

I am at peace. Though presently convulsed with grief, I am at peace. 

Some days I’m scared I’m going to die. Or even worse: I might survive. I try to keep these words in mind: “Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight. Gotta kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight.”