That first
Already feels like hell.
I’ve just now grown accustomed to being broken
Being buried under my own misgivings
about what is possible
and plausible
and pertinent.

Is it really necessary to go on?
To keep growing
resetting my parameters to encompass new notions?

I feel pinned like a butterfly
Against the pressboard
Stretched to capacity
But gee, don’t I look pretty in this pose?

But the cycles continue.
The sun rises
And sets
(As much as anything can go up or down on a sphere)
And the death of an idea is sometimes more important than one might expect.
How would we ever start,
if nothing ever ended?

It does beg the question though,
“Now that you’re dead, what are you going to do with your life?”

Today’s deck is the Steampunk Tarot