We all have those that ground us.
Make us tangible.
There to remind that the blood that sometimes.
Spills.
Is infinitely finite.
And when they fall away.
Leaving you.
Floating.
Anchorless.
Inches from the ground.
But having neglected certain skills for so long.
Finding meaning to make landfall.
Is not a destination at all.
Nor searching for things that fiegn permanence.
The air has become frigid over the years.
One must adjust.
Or lose more than imagination.
Ever dared.

Why does one feel the need to taunt fire.
Dangle just above.
Inticing pain.
Disregarding consequence
As if bathing in such might just scorch away the sins still felt.
From the last searing moments.
Is it hope.
This irrational graspless object.
That most won't leave the house without it.
Tomorrow..
Must be the time in which truth is found.
Even if questioning existence to faceless figments is the requirement.
Over and over does the rabit hole disintegrate the mind.
Until.
The next choice is presented.

Always.
Forever.
Incessant.
Words that are taught to never use.
Its never ending.
Seaminglyendlesscircles.
Dark and heavy.
Weighing down logic.
For what is seen.
Is not what is heard.
One must count.
Down.
Raging cryptic cycles.
Even if they aren't uniform.
Any rant will do.
Copy.
Paste.
Repeat.
Regurgitate.
Maybe then.
A meaning can be uncovered.
But for now.
Repitition.
Seems to be the only course allotted.

"Yeah, I came out swinging,
But I still came out with two black eyes
And a split lip."

And I close my eyes
And face my demons,
And I see them
And I cower
But they see it in my eyes,
I came here looking for a fight.

So it's a fight they put up.

I'll destroy my insecurities,
I'll face off with my feelings,
And I'll go to battle
With the blood I've spilled
And the mistakes I've made.

All my fears
Will try to eat me alive,
But each and every scar I bare,
Each and every beat of my heart
Proves I'm alive.

And as long as I'm alive,
I'll come out swinging,
Each and every time.

give me sleep
the waves have lapped over me
for years now
and the crashing has left me shivering

give me sleep
until the moon pardons these waters
for just a day
while we wait
just let me be null

give me sleep
so that when i wake again
my throat is clear and air flows freely
and my chest sways with the tide
instead of against it

until then

give me rest
give me rest so i may wake refreshed
to face the rising moon
without this salt water chest

i don't know. i feel crazy sometimes, more than others. i see people, and i see what i wish i could be; fine. everyone has **** going on, but when my friend told me she was stressed and i asked why, she replied "i don't know what to wear tomorrow." if she asked me what i was stressed about, it'd be "i don't know how to stop hating myself."

Aimless.
Can thought run.
To nowhere.
Neither leading or following.
A stalemate has become the  norm.
What is real.
Inspecting that strange figure in the mirror.
Has grown tiresome.
For if there was any resemblance at one time.
What would be the point of validation.
Creating.
Driving.
Movement in general.
Is now a chore.
Does one keep smiling..
Even as these words come out.
Darkening the mind of each new reader.
Muscles move to form the desired action.
Each pair of eyes that look upon.
This mangled form.
Can see.
exactly.
what isn't.
Because of what was.
The stigma was born through the devious means projected.
Branded.
With pain and nostalgia.
Then in an instant.
It all fits grotesquely.
Perfect together.
What need is there for inspiration.
For all that was ever truly needed was imbued into the very soul.
Tempered solid through the years with torment and grief.
Sealed every crack and fracture that would come with anger and self preservation.
Weapons that were kept sharp and ready to use.
And now.
They etch their existence in any corner of the mind available.
Ready to take the next victim.
With.
Or without consent..