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Human Confetti
Comfy
in the completeness
of the dark
where we can color
in between the lines of time
a blacker horizon for the eternity,
the uncertainty of the next breath
and thoughts that caress,
like gentle winds,
our mental leaves:
the premonition of the
coming abcission.
When memories will disjoint;
fragments of consciousness will burst
into confetti
dancing across the planet,
vivid
with detachment
from the larger mold,
and romancing the intricacies
of their tiny movements.
It will come:
We will breathe without lungs.
We will blink without eyelids.
Seas will dissolve
into particle sprays
and we, the humid embers
admist the catharsis.
Disassembled
into something more.
