It was never luck
It was written
With purpose
With love
And with unstoppable grace.

It must’ve been the blackest of obsidian
The bleakest of tragedies
That fastened your bones together
And tainted what could’ve been yellow

And Misery must’ve held a millennium thirst
When she drank from the Styx
And spit you onto the world
To poison the ones who taste of it

Because even the flesh of the cold blooded
Will glaciate into an iron snow  
Will freeze over like rotted autumn roots
At the reticence of your touch

Yes, there must have been some devilish prophecy
Spoken on the day that you ascended from the embers
The day the stars were misaligned
Off kilter and yearning to return to virtue

I’m sure that it must’ve taken a mountain of karmic cycles
Each more sinister, more corroded than the last
To shape the quiet vessel
That carries your deafening poison

Unequivocally—
Certainly—
Truthfully—

Threaded into the fabric of you was a venomous wound
And it bleeds and it bleeds and it bleeds
And you thrash and curse and wail into the nothingness
And we both know that even the nothingness pities you now

But I swear, hopeless one—
I swear I swear I swear
If not for fate
And the wickedness of your heart
I think that I would pity you too

There are times when life’s knitting unravels
a major diversion in the direction of travel,
not a dropped stitch, or some existential glitch,
but a ****** awful tangle
a wrestle, a fist fight,
a complicated wrangle
a long overdue appointment with fate,
when we can do nothing but sit back and wait
let it run, see it through
think about anything that we can do
to find the loose ends
pick up the pieces
and start to make amends

Parallel lines once—
Somehow converging
At such an improbable intersection
No equation calculated the outcome
If x was the distance,
God turned engineer—
Solving the crossing,
Integrating us.

Was frustrated, so decides to take a high
A pill that many said could ****
Not scared of death cos I thought it was worth
Thoughts that came in, when I lied

Life was fun when I have the dreams
Of wonderland that never ends
Nor shadows cast; with mints and means
Yet, someone tried to take my life

A half-filled cup I left behind
The remnant down, the poison skipped
As unaware as I could ever be
Fate somehow works to keeps me safe

I wish this was a song of praise
An adoration of one's immunity
But while I can't deny the rave
I pray our fate's not less the same

If for nothing, make I explain
We have those dreams that never gape
Yet not so many declare the same
My pray' your dreams will never fade

I’ve died so many quiet deaths—
shedding selves that were never wrong,
just no longer true.

Each one carried me
as far as it could
before laying itself down
so I could rise.

Now that I’ve found healing,
I see it was always there—
a quiet knowing,
guiding me forward
through the dark.

But now I wonder—
was it the knowing that shaped the path,
or the path that shaped the knowing?
Did I become who I was meant to be,
or did I simply arrive
where I’d always been?