field trip

i want to play the strings;
ice cold waters i suppose
they'll work as blankets.
some souls come here
but they don't stay long.
they shape and slash our bodies
they stab and wound our
helping hands
in that grand gesture
we open our arms with gratitude.
death to me is not a mystery.
it is, after all, the only destiny.
we will carry as much as we can
on this vessels of ours.
stop trying to find the reason
in the mirror.