some mornings,
I wake up like a god—
fire in my veins,
everything electric,
everything possible.
I could climb
the highest ******* building,
shout at the sun,
make it blink first.
I could tear this city apart
just to see how it’s wired.

other days,
I wake up
already halfway buried.
there’s no fight,
no fire,
just the weight of everything
I thought I could be
piling up,
brick by brick,
until I can’t tell
where I end
and the shadows begin.

and in between—
the waiting room days,
the ones that don’t count,
where you sit
with your hands in your lap
watching the ceiling crack,
wondering which side of you
will win tomorrow.
maybe neither.
maybe both.

I’ve tried to explain it before—
how one minute you’re on fire,
and the next you’re just ash,
how living like this
isn’t something
you ever
get good at.
you just ride it,
hold on
until it throws you off,
then crawl back up again,
because what else
is there to do?

sometimes,
in the quiet moments,
when it’s all leveled out—
no beast to tame,
no hole to fall into—
I feel something
like peace.
but peace
isn’t what I came here for.
I’m here
to burn,
to rise,
to fall,
to ride the beast
again and again,
until I can’t tell
if it’s carrying me
or I’m carrying it.