Could this be the destruction that I
have always said I wanted? The
tearing up of my life as if it were
a sheet of paper, tossing those
pieces into the breeze that kicks
up just as this tattered life is strewn.
In terms of death, of reincarnation,
I could find a scientist who’d somehow
be able to calculate the improbability
that any shred from the sheet of
parchment that was once me
could ever find again even one
of the other torn pieces (that
again, cumulatively was once
me). Anyway, death comes
to us all, supposedly.
So. Is it too late to say to you,
to plead with you, to humbly
beg of you this:
Please, kindly, might you
avoid ripping me into shreds?
