Grasp life!

Cling to it as you would grasp a flower with many thorns.

Hold tightly its beauty,
And its pain,
As your reward for the chances you have taken in desperation.

Drink freely from the wound, the blood of the terrified heart,
That crimson badge that defiles the bold sanctity of our innocence!

And fear not the nightmares,
The blame,
The doubt,
The anger,
Hold high the heavy head in its weary and furrowing brow.

Taste the blood of your own bitten tongue,
Drink it down, hot and bitter sweet,
Savoring it behind teeth of madness in a silently screaming mouth.

And yet neither tis not life nor love that bears the pain!

Tis I, the dream!

Shattered by the hammers of false gods.
This chalice that stood once in glistening its pride,
Reduced now to uncertain shards of hope.

The betrayer's shards,
Taken to form and cast thusly unto the ***** of the unwary and the fool,
Striking into those who survive,
The unforgiving blow.

War is its result.

On a fierce battlefield of emotions, born in the heart,
Where weather matters not against the cold torment that is only found inside.

So tremble,
And shiver,
And rightly so that you should!
For you are no different than he,
Nor she,
Nor I.

That you should not feel and bear witness to the sorrows
Served in generous portions at the table of lies.

In as much that you did indeed eat and drink your fill from the plentiful bounty,
You who also found your satiated fulfillment there in,
With each ravenous bit taken.