Hypothesis on Reincarnation

I'm aware of the wacky format and great lack of punctuation, I like it like that. Read please.

There is this thing called a story,

it involves something called a life.

However, there comes a confidentiality with your thoughts 

and feelings

and friends

and self

and family 

and story

that buries you within yourself in a deep dark burning hole that might as well be Hell

and things just burn and burn and burn and burn with a wind-blown, dull picket fence

tethered to the ground with the intestines of cats and murderers and heartless people

and you continue to stalk this thing called "life" and fail to create a story.

So, when you're on your deathbed, you might think:

"I didn't fail to write a story."

"I lived a good life."

Which, you might as well stop telling yourself lies because the story doesn't end there and neither does life and neither do the endless burning flames and neither does the horrible site of the intestine-earthed picket fence

because you're supposed to get sleep for a little while and think about what you would have been if you had made different decisions and what those decisions would have been and then you finally sleep, and in your sleep you are dreaming of those paths and they just so happen to become true. Therefore, everybody is a reincarnation, recreation, a part of another's rehabilitation.

Author's Note

Tell me what you think and what might have changed about my writing style.

Reviews

[lyss]

I like this, towards the end it almost seemed like a chant which I liked because it had a good rhythm to it. I liked the end of the poem the most. :)

[Melody]

Thank you! :D