Human beings are constantly trying to survive.
I'm not talking about the whole breathing aspect or biological capacities and such,
I mean survive.
The cliche of being born to die stands true.
Every day we near out demise and most days it seems like some sort of struggle to wake up.

Most of us adore the sweet feeling of rest.
The tinge of having another hour of laying on the horizon.
The heaviness of the lids which seem to always win battles.
The hardship of getting our balance to start our days.

Yes, there are some that wake up with a burst and seem to pull it like a band aid but no matter, gravity still has its strength.

Survival...
The fight in our minds to figure what it's worth.
That moment when we need to get up and the thoughts that get us to do it.
Work, classes, kids, obligations, etc.

But what about when that sweetness becomes our tragedy?
When responsibilities and schedules seem to not concern us?
When life is better worth lived in the warmness of our sheets?

We put labels and we have medicines but it comes down to something much deeper.
For I would rather lay there then be numb whilst among the world.
I rather feel not and be me, feel the disparity of my being than have something control me.

Survival...
It is with ourselves that we must assault.
There is no gravity, no chemical, no weapon, no words, that are stronger than those which stalk our every thought, those unseen and unheard, those unfelt and undiscovered, those of which we carry in the highest throne.

We must bare this idea of survival on our own with no sense of reprise, or orthodox.
We either rip or linger, either way, we must continue.