How do I stand.
Through the wrath and the hurt and the pain.
How do I stand up.
Through the knife and the blood and my veins.
How.
When my words are withdrawn, my hopes along side.
And all of the dust as it settles inside.
Dismay and lost in my thoughts as they deepen, darken to a cloud of ash unto death itself.
The strain, The torture
The self mutilation of thoughts of dreams crushed and left on the side of the road to wallow in the rain.
Running down my face,
Washing, cleansing.. Or merely diluting the tears.
Withdrawal for sleep or unconsciousness.
What's the difference, you dream in your sleep,
I don't dream I die.
Every time my head crashes against the pillow.
To be lost in nothingness.
To be sucked away into a burning black hole of desire.
A desire for the real.
To feel.
To be beaten back to life.