This feeling...
Heavy...
Like a wreath bearing down my neck.
Every fibre in me seem to be at loggerheads.

My heart...
Pounding.
Each beat is a hammer
sledging away at my saneness.

My breaths...
Premature and short.
Inconsistent.
I respire full but with punctured lungs.

It creeps into our minds and compels us to turn and walk away, even if that means letting go of the things we yearn for the most
Somehow, it manages to whisper lies that we deem of more than the pure truth
The things that we have perfected no longer embrace value, for our words cannot escape from our locked lips and our bodies become more frozen than ice
Opportunities become grains of sand that slip through our fingers
We endeavor to perceive what is in the vast and mysterious unknown
Our views are distorted, and we believe that we are only fools for dreaming of something so great and unfathomable, even when we have prepared for this our entire lives
That something is our future, but there is one thing that possesses the power to stifle us
Fear.

Let us focus on forgiveness
Make it our word of the day
Whether it be of yourself or someone else
Sit back and watch what it creates

As it takes the heart of the hurting
Kneads and melds it into shape
You've never lived until you've learned to give
The bitter taste of bitterness away

Take hold of the hand of forgiveness
Leading you wherever it may
You will never go wrong with the path it is on
Where forgiveness is the best of all ways

The irony of the words you say - "I think I'm losing my mind."

Because how on earth can you think when you've left your sanity behind?

419

We grow accustomed to the Dark—
When light is put away—
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye—

A Moment—We uncertain step
For newness of the night—
Then—fit our Vision to the Dark—
And meet the Road—*****—

And so of larger—Darkness—
Those Evenings of the Brain—
When not a Moon disclose a sign—
Or Star—come out—within—

The Bravest—***** a little—
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead—
But as they learn to see—

Either the Darkness alters—
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight—
And Life steps almost straight.

721

Behind Me—dips Eternity—
Before Me—Immortality—
Myself—the Term between—
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin—

’Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say—
In perfect—pauseless Monarchy—
Whose Prince—is Son of None—
Himself—His Dateless Dynasty—
Himself—Himself diversify—
In Duplicate divine—

’Tis Miracle before Me—then—
’Tis Miracle behind—between—
A Crescent in the Sea—
With Midnight to the North of Her—
And Midnight to the South of Her—
And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

I am acting the part
As stated in life's script
I'm acting my part
Smiling and keeping on
So the others
Can act their parts
Of lingering not and moving on

I drop my part
And shelf the mask
When I'm alone
I drop my part
And hang the armour
When the honest me
Takes over the weary me


Then, I drop the act
And hopefully pray
That I don't loose myself
In between the parts

.

He doesn't realise...
The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground.
Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound.

He doesn't see...
Past the darkened lenses that she dons.
She wears them,
not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken,
but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations.

He doesn't know...
Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her.
The rivulets of tears...
She had quietly shed without a whimper.

He doesn't hear...
The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head.
The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said.

He doesn't care...
To think of the devastating waves that come.
Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures...
This frail wall that she prays for nightly.
Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour.

He doesn't feel...
The need for empathy.
For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower.
He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments
and his fists as sceptre.

She doesn't live...
To see future suns.
For her day finally set when it all came down.
The wall she had feebly held together with her life...
Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife.

.

We question the Beginning,
We applaud the Middle,
We deny the End.