The line between opponents.
Drawn in blood.
Stale.
From centuries of spilled tension.
Its a tug of war.
With no spoils.
There is no obvious winner.
Just statistics of lost resources.
From the moment a baby leaves the womb.
Is there just another tally.
A collection of numbers that hold 'value'.
then somewhere along the way this becomes more of an aproximation.
Regardless of who is scoring.
Each red slash mitigates emotion and truth.
And the blurry line gets forgotten all together.
Given time and an abundance of falacies can one begin to entertain any thought.
And once logic gives way to the beast created.
Will any action become malicious in nature.
Regardless of whom the teeth doth shred.

Its neither here nor there.
Always watching.
Seemingly waiting.
But more off to the side.
Like a sibling forced into pickup duty.
Three minutes go by.
And the inevitable call is made.
Anger and impatience swell with every unanswered ring.
No one asked to be apart of this incessant dance.
The beat is always off.
Even the tune is becoming bothersome.
What prize is there for those that acomplish indifference.
When the winner is dragging their feet to the podium.
No one is willing to listen.
Any exchange at this point brings nothing but fire.
A molotov with no fuel.
For in the end.
It all just hangs their in the precious balance.
Like the suit thats a little to big to wear in the corner of the closet.
Sitting there.
Collecting days.
Until the night comes.
Just to be overlooked.

Wilted leaves overpopulate the ground.
And no tree as far as eyes can perceive.
So far from home.
So close to anywhere.  
But here.
A statement that can be heard any second of any given day.
This moment in time.
A random fraction of the incessant routine.
Dreaming or awake.
It all depends on feel.
Not logic.
And even then the rules of both worlds must be learned regardless.
Who is there to say that one's understanding of the environment  is incorrect.
Everything down to the information that the eyes process reside in the brain.
I think so therefore I am.
And yet even this comes into question regularly.
The longer one stays in this world.
Less and less questions are answered.
But one thing can definitely be found regardless of intention.
One must learn to swim through the viscous muk of disappointment.
To grasp at enlightenment.
Or be insane enough to not care.
For words can never be unseen.
Unheard.
Unspoken.
Sharper than any blade.
Even more blunt than a boulder.
Can the wrong words be.
Sadly.
One cant go through life without first being initiated through pain.  
And even after its not promised that happiness will follow.
With so many eyes weighing down in expectation.
Its hard to focus.
On any point.
Pointless.
It may always seem..

Why is it so troublesome to assist the sun.
Each new day one must gauge the distance.
For a step too close and the flames whip at my face.
Ready to devour any advance.
Every route is riddled with worry.
Regardless of when or how.
It's about understanding why we wade through muck and grime.
That defines just what comes up for air.
For better.
Or worse.
For each will always be hand in hand.
So I ask you to take mine.
These weapons at my side have protected me through the most dire of times.
So fear not the edges.
And trust that nothing shall split us in two.
We have come so far.
It would be a shame.
To disregard the light when the darkness is kissing our cheeks.
So sing your song.
And surrender to nothing.
We have taken hills before.
So what's one more..

It isn't often that the sun refuses to rise.
Lately it seems to need encouragement.
Rising just a little later each day.
And when it is the sole reason that the passing of time is so named.
Everything caters to meet the new requirements.
Disregarding lunar activity.
Heliocentric minds have never felt so embellished.
A chaotic routine indeed.
Favoring those who won the right to stay apexed.
Only when so many fight to stay at the top.
Do all those in the middle lose center.
Compressing the foundation into neat distortions of the past.
Like laughing at irony meant to sting.
Or playing a stringless instrument​ to a deaf audience.
Captivating all the more.
For beauty lies in the only I that matters.

How many wish their days were different.
Just how far would one force the wheel back.
How many hours and seconds feel wasted.
On people.
Phone calls that last into the a.m.
Sleepless nights.
Wakeless days.
We call them day dreams.
Because when night falls.
Only nightmares await.
What is it called when the terror recedes due to repetition.
So many ache for a life less frightening.
Constantly swerving to avoid shadows.
Disregarding the dotted lines left by those that embrace an unknown.
That will never be traversed again.
Creating a fear of mistakes.
That only feed the ever growing mass which ironically will never know growth.  
It is too​ perpetual to be called stagnant.
And we have yet to see just how much will be consumed.
It's only when a distinction can be made.
That will cause such a drastic shift in paradigm.
Sending tremors of enlightenment and damnation alike back to the epicenter.
Just to shake down what meager sandcastle stand.
Can one breathe life.
When so many forget to inhale.
Then ****** themselves into an endless void.
which should never have been undertaken to begin with.
Like trying to start a car without first getting out of bed.
Then realize only a tire-less bicycle is all that sits in the drive way.
One Should fear.
For sometimes it is the only drive that can be counted on.

There are infinite reactions.
So many that it clouds the mind in ways.
Not depicted in myths and lore.
And fret over the loss of sight.
When our most powerful telescope.
Only perceives a fraction of its vastness.
There are rules and guidelines to follow.
Yet even these are given room to manipulate.
The species greatest asset is choice..
And in just as many ways is also it's bane.
Groups and squads are formed by likeness.
Then set out to erase change.
As if remaining stagnant was progress.
Even when the battlefield reeks of regret churned in blood does one find solace.
For after the rage dissipates.
Fear rises from the reverse graveyard with the sun.
Sometimes.
It's better to leave things unseen.
And unspoken.
Praise be to the righteous man.
Writing history since birth B.C.
Long after the ink runs dry