if i continue along this road
will i become ragged and damaged?
will i have to drag my wearsome feet
until i cannot go on

crawling back from that point
was the hardest thing i have done.
i’m not sure that my broken, sullied fingers
would be able to claw at the dirt track
back towards my old self.

i cannot get hurt again,
even if that means picking myself up from the dust,
screaming at the top of my lungs,
that i need to be free;
i need to be able to breathe.

can i trust you to meet me,
smile on your face,
to pull me into your arms?
my rock amongst my crumbling thoughts.

n.b.