4 Lights

The threads of my existence  wilt like an aging flower,  only 118 days more  for 8 years come to an end.     A ragged blue hoodie  a sixth sense, and  an empty core dense with life  pull me to the falling sunset  rising under the horizon.     I do not dare dream  of eternal heaven(hell)  nor look beyond  the warm hands and soft kisses  of my narrow vision.     I see onward  with eyes eroded  by shrill headwinds  screaming in hypocricy  and contradiction.     I see beauty bursting  from faded patches of watercolor  piercing through the facade  in breathtaking ugliness.     Final breaths  before it befalls  in eternal sleep.