Throw me to the sky and let the clouds tear me the fuck up
If I get low happy thoughts, I contemplate throwing myself like a comet or a summer baseball into a cloudy ever fucking after. I know what that death would be. First silence, you slow and float and the sky looks you over and respects you (as much as the sky, which doesn't care, is capable of). Then the blow, a crush, the air goes out of your body in a gasp and you don't flatten, you shrink. First the white space in your life story, then the water evaporates, and the cells left over bang fast into each other, creating new elements, denser as you grow smaller until you are an atomic sun and you implode when at last the walls try to reach through each other. You become part of nothing, but you cease in perfection.
Some people give themselves over to the elements begging to be elevated to angels or mermaids. But I know how it is. To unbe is the highest honor our species can hope for.
There's no order outside my window. The stick structures of feeble hands are appalling. Clamoring to be swallowed up. Chaos wins. We're only here because it hasn't noticed us yet. Wait until the world breaks and you'll know I'm right. When have you seen such livid skies or such brave seas? They're coming for us, calling, who will join in the cause of righteousness? One day with the clouds hissing down at us I, in shame and relief and devotion, will jump in.
Throw me to the sky and let the clouds tear me the fuck up