Are you worried?
Worried about what?
Going blind at 27…
Hell no. I’m already there.
The focus shifts in and out all the time.
The lenses are shot, the old ones obsolete, irrelevant, a distorted past that does no good for the indiscernible future.
All is not as it seems or was or will be.
And I laugh, and I cry and I hope for the best.
I work for the best.
Here. Here for personhood. Mine alone.
That’s not a typo people.
In fact. It is the end.
Of the piece, that is a piece of the story, of my life.
As I know it.