I hold luck in my hand while failure bleeds through its crevices.
It all began with a capsule labeled 'Life'. This THING could have been
created through love lust or marriage. Rape is also a choice.
Grows and develops and drips while time sticks to my body,
while the clock ticks to the beat of my heart. Bones begin to rust
and wrinkles become a deep canal or abyss.

But what if I flip it over? Will time become unstuck?
Will my heart rate slow? I hope my adolesant days come back around
where my skin was soft and eyes were brown. Not yellow.
Mother teach me of my fatherless childhood. The intelligence must open
then I can open my hand. My luck is going to fall and the dream to
breathe in my success shall come true. The new life will put out
not a single excuse for the forty million other reasons for failure.
Shamefully it has slipped away and the time to turn back has been
cut clean. Sprinkle my remains in the Pacific so I can swim
in one of my savior's successes in the after life.