With every dawn that rises
I find myself
suspended in normality,
scrambling to scavenge some sort
of beauty in the bleakness.
My own past, passes me by.
those who were once called lovers
all love another,
(someone who had always been
desperate to reach the foreground)
So many times have I wished
that I could split myself-
send each piece sailing into the sky
and see which road leads me to destiny.
But- I am whole.
with this, I must decide upon a single path-
accept normalitys cold, clammy palms
gripping my thighs, holding my waist.
The only reason we feel
a way towards something
is because we've been trained to.
it is valid for flowers to be putrid,
and hell to be heavenly,
if we so wish it to be.
the most twisted of things in your mind,
lie in my own morning routine.
You've never met a wanderer like me.
Countless pathways and I remain
barefoot and bleeding along the same trail,
knowing **** well it will **** me;
glass hidden between pebbles,
ghosts kissing my heels,
my own self, blind to the foreground.
