I just want it to end.

The hopelessness, the fear,
the constant critic in my head:
I've lived with them all for too long.

All I've ever known is this war, this endless battle.
There's nothing wrong with wanting it to end.
To wish that it didn't is cruel.

But why can't the best solution be the simplest?
Why do I have to keep fighting?

At times it's deafening,
and I'm so exhausted.

Why can't I just lay down in no man's land
and let this battle fall silent around me?

Why can't that be the end?

Because... I'll never know what's possible.

A single touch may break me
but still I follow the light,
creeping from the dark
as if my soul could not
be shattered.

I followed,
but never could quite grasp
such a sacred thing.

You are beautiful
Like the spring time
Your scent a floral breeze

In anger like the summer
Your hurtful words blazing
Burn the heart of me

At times you are autumn
Your eyes reflecting calmness
Full of wisdom and peace

But mostly you are winter
Quiet, cold, and distant
A frozen land, that's lost to me

My quill set for the page,

Yet my mind’s eye is upstaged,

Betwixt them sits a wall,

But here no war shall be waged,



I search for beauty and pathos,

Yet my aperture gathers only stone,

If the barrier were to give itself kudos,

For having left my page all alone



But to think of the possibility,

That the wall itself but not a writer,

That the curvature of the laden brick,

Creates a paradox of the block.

"Could you spare a moment?
I need to talk to you,
it's important."

"Not right now,
I'm busy.
Can we talk later?"

"Oh, okay."

And we never talk.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

It's a bitter dance with fate.
He twirls me and I reply by stepping on his toes,
because I can't dance to such a foreign beat.
And fate is whisking me away,
moves unreliable and messy,
barely better at dancing than I am.

This can't last forever.
Eventually, we'll grow tired
of the confusion and unpredictable moves
each other will make.
And we'll break away to take our own steps,
off the dance floor and towards the buffet
where we gorge ourselves on the future
we choose for us.
The things we know will be what we want.
Fate cannot control us here,
He cannot lead us away on a mystical journey
going off into the misty evening.
At least, not until we open our eyes and realize:

We always come back to the dancefloor.
and Fate comes in many forms.