The water was on fire
The air was cold.
Day was slowly setting on the river bank.
Where he sat short-sleeved shivering in the onset of spring.

The lake was an inferno.
In places, the water was so murky deep it looked like black night.
As if it was to swallow him whole.

He lay in the soft dewy grass starry with the reflection of the horizon.
Which with every second was darkening and disappearing.
It was darling in the way a day can decay so easily.

Spots burst across his vision.
Yet he continued to stare into the very thing that controls the cycles of our lives and
blinds us to the day we die.

Every time he breathed in his cigarette smoke, his body committed suicide.
The trees wailed.The wind cut through him like sharp words.
The embers just burned.

This boy was lost in the rough ending of winter and the delicate start of spring.
He swallowed the sun and blew out its ashes.
He had a fire inside of him that water couldn't quench.

He needs oxygen to live.
His soul to die.
He smokes to cry.
Life is just the time in which he dies.
And we all die.
Whether it be our bodies
or just our minds