Blame is a funny thing it seems,
when the reality of your nightmares takes the place of plesant dreams.

You pray, and will yourself towards outcomes lined in silver,
cut deep, fire again, as you pull another arrow from your quiver.

A light at night that feeds as darkness flees,
desire consumed by placing doubt at the feet of make-believe.

You there, holding a smile hostage behind years of troubled abuse,
make peace, a tempting trait, finding a way to  hinder happiness’ truce.

One foot in front of the other, stubbed toes that follow a cemented path,
tears well up, washing smudges from the windows of your soul, you’ll laugh.

An advocate for all things ‘animal’, the scapegoat least of all.
Tying the knot, shoestring situation - wait for me, your beck and call.

deleting inconsistencies, stick around for a little while and you’ll see,
Self-love, outward hate, a slipstream race towards all I’ll ever be.

There’s a tactical, cumbersome advantage to living life so free,
the ability to live and love who we want, until that person decides to disagree.

Place an ear to my chest, and hear the rhythm of lies with each heartbeat,
In this day and age of open hate, no regard to civility, no reason to be discreet.

Advice to die by, said like this: love one another, and like yourself,
we only have so long on this earth before we’re taken off the shelf.