Eternal Living Probably Isn’t Bliss

Every so often, I write about Hell.

I think about death a lot,

can't you tell?

Heaven is another story

Hint: story

Eternal living doesn't quite sound 

like my kind of paradise

But

Weather that I can change 

From clear, bright blue skies

to familiar grey clouds

and the heavy anticipation of rain,

Empty, carpeted rooms

Lit by fairy lights

Filled with books, blank canvases

Records and maps of favorite places,

Ukuleles and out-of-tune street pianos

Wherever I go

Green converse and Doc Marten's

I can wear a flannel and a jacket and not be too warm

Tea and coffee that doesn't affect my sleep

Where I can close my eyes wherever I need

I can read without getting distracted

Headphones that feel the bass and don't hurt my ears

Green plants and air that smells of rain

and fresh;y washed clothes

Your heart and mine intertwined

Holding hands wherever we like

The faintness of the ocean only a few miles away

No need to do math or science or English essays

Only writing in notebooks and painting stars with you

Talking through the night until our cheeks hurt from laughing

Sounds like bliss.

But that doesn't matter,

I'm going to Hell anyway.

SRC