I read a quote somewhere that said,
"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."

And I felt those words shoot through every nerve in my body. I felt them so deeply.

And I wonder how many of us feel the same way.

How many nights we fought off the suicidal thoughts, the urge to cut, the urge to purge, the urge to run or to hide out, alone, too afraid to worry or bother our friends and family.

How many days and nights have we all suffered in our own darkness alone?

People like us fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.

I've fought myself and survived myself alone so many nights.

There were nights I use to lose my own battle. But some how still came out alive.

I guess that's how we keep going. Because every time we give up we come out stronger.

You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.

We're warriors.

"I don't know how many times I've survived myself, without telling anyone else."

Tonight, I'm telling all of you.

I survived myself.

And if you're still here and you're reading this, you survived yourself too.

It's not easy but you did it.

And I'm so proud of you all.

I could hear Insufficiency flee from me at The Thinkers Hour, when sleep is halted and, on occasion the rooster is already cawing at the movements of Transiency.

I rise higher, scribing longer, recounting our Divinity, the boundlessness of Love, and the hues that the Sun dusts over cemeteries and trains alike.

It is then, as matter scaling the skyling, that decidedly I sink into Rapid Ply Healing.

There's only one skip on the CD.
There's only time that is not absolute.

The barista spilled the milk and the customer replied, "Telekinesis, baby, telekinesis!"
The mugging was designed and I must tread with the iridescence onto the next track.

There's only one skip but it repeats continuously
There's no time because I like to say it's not real.

The director created a puzzle and the viewers play for so long.
The overdose was placed and I must sing with plithiness the tenacity of my favorite number.

There's only one skip.

Preachers have more plagiarized content than singers.
The old man I met on the sidewalk told me one of the Beach Boys locked himself in a basement and created his own fraction of notes, his own harmonies.
I create a thought to push my voice from my gut out my mouth into the air.
Now wiggling vibrations mingle with oxygen molecules and the place in space is rearranged.
I created traction.
This is it.
This

Entropic threats loom and I told them to ******* from the start.
Shouldn't is transparent because it plays warning fair.
I tell my toes to move and they do.
You're next.

You must take the wound,
Face it,
Squeeze it,
Bite it,
**** out the venom,
Spit out the venom,
Gather comfrey,
Dress the once wound,
Bandage it,
Let it SCAR (it is now a reminder in this phase),
LET IT HEAL

Sleeping for mere ellipses

Bleary eyed beliefs breach
the sentenced structure