Know that my feet are still kicking
and if you look hard enough
you might see my tired eyes
devouring frantically while they stay
above this surface below which lies
all I never wished to be accustomed to

I do return each night – kicking,
breaking through for a little while,
trying to not recognize the reluctance
that questions the pretense
of a self-regulated time bound struggle

I was told that I am
ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
always too afraid and uncertain,
forever invested in trivial concerns

Yet it is the recognition of these inclinations,
which make sense only in light of immortality,
that pushes me to prolong this experiment

Is there any consolation in defying ignorance,
only to acquire the knowledge of certain failure?

I have a feeling we’ll discover there is