I scale my mountain of scars and the view is spectacular.

Hopes and dreams
are soft and fragile
as the petals above.
Bathing and blossoming
in the radiating warmth,
love and happiness
of the sun.
But attached to these
fragrant petals
are thorny stems
the one needs to climb
to bathe and breathe
the intoxicating and enriching aura.

My failings are justified
Ghosting your presence
Love me once meant life
Kindred lips part ways
Varied volume waves your force
Happiness used to be your metaphor for me
Climbing down now
Grounded grinding and generous

I climb this mountain
While my hands bleed true
I climb this mountain
Just for you

You are not between rocks
Or at mountain peak
I climb and bleed
So I don't seem weak

These bleeding hands
are not brave nor bold
I hope you know
They are only yours to hold

I climb this mountain
With no goal or plan
A bleeding testament
To the ego of man

When the days are long and the nights are restless,
we seek for a way to forget.
We bathe in our sorrows.
We rip ourselves to shreds.
We bleed to feel, because not feeling hurts more then the pain of blades.
When life ***** us over we struggle to climb back up,
and when we get up. Life laughs and kicks us down again.

Whats the point.
We feel nothing.
We are in an endless cycle.
Whats the point.

I had watched his glow go down
and I saw the hole swallow him whole.
I now watched his light rise
and I saw his eyes rest on mine,
newly ascended.