I take myself too seriously to go up to eleven.

Wincing at the light, I deprive myself;
Take in an uneven frame.
With lowered brows and interminable thoughts
I pass it all by,

Float and reflect on the detail
Never seen,
Convinced I experienced it all,
Scratching in the rest;

I tear in the blue sky and smear the
Breaking waves;
I become more an object of scorn as the greens
And greys of the cliff side are marred,

Framed in the corner of an eye.

Eloquence has little worth in the steaming hearth;
Where the ropes coil and knuckles crack from the strain.
Others set themselves free and pirouette in the stream
Because they don't carry the ballast on their feet;
Their tongue;
Their nerve.

Endless steps to shifting rhythms in a haze of noise and palpable judgement.
Apologies tend not to resonate when the damage is done and the horse gets Higher, stomping to the beat of a privileged heart.
You learn quickly, and with a heavy sense of defeat, that you can never do Enough.
Expectations climb with a pace unmatched by any effort imaginable as
It's prearranged.
The waltz was always going to play out like this because you put on the grafter's Shoes; paid for with the gritty coin you caught in your teeth.

Hidden among the crowds and the polished leather, there lives another breed with A human face.
One not twisted and distorted by throwaway reproach.
It takes a surprising level of regard to pick them out as they often don the same Paint as the revilers.  
However, these are the gems that can cut through thick skin, penetrating the Mortar, to find flesh.
They pulse with you and quiet the frayed edges.
They are your rhythm and your reason for perseverance.
They see to it that your resentment doesn't have time to settle in your bones.
They are much too few and far between.

What will it be like?
What will you be like
When all of you at once rests?
Will it be a relief?
Will it be sudden or gradual and will you know?
Will you know that breath for the one to bring you into harmony with the Vibrating earth?
The one that will become the breeze and take you with it.
Will it be peaceful?
Or will it make you shudder and your knuckles turn white?
Will that breath burn
And will you try to hold it?
Or will you embrace the value of what you've done?
The people you've loved and the warmth you've given.
Will you wish for one more?
Or will you offer it all willingly?
Out of contentment or resentment?
Will you think of yourself?
Or of someone you'd give your breath to?
Will it feel like falling?
Will it stab at every nerve in your body and will you let it show?
Will it be easy?
Scary?
Clear?
Will it be how you lived?
What will it be like?
What will you be like?