give me a scotch

A deal that’s been made
Cannot be avoided, voided, or changed
A hand that’s been played
A Royal flush by a Royal Sage
In spite of my fomentation,
And it’s tormenting sensation

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Once, I watched a tree collapse;
It was on a sunny day in April.
No wind storms or nimbus clouds,
No light breeze   Just the sky at a standstill.

It struck me as ironic.
Something so sturdy could fall at its waist,
And in the wake of its crash,
Debris had scattered and was blown away.

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The prospect of ends has always been terrifying for me,
Yet the ultimate end is even more so.   It haunts me.

I am who I am, yet I am told not to fear
The unbecoming of me as the end grows near
But that is what truly frightens the most:
That I do not know when I'll reach the coast.

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A hazy future
The doubt won't melt away but neither will You   Isn't that right?
Never   Never seems so far away
But if it's "never" then it should not seem at all.

Hysteria   Gripping tightly
Others calm   But not me   Thanks a lot

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