I'm watching my every single step I'm careful not to stumble and fall One stone on the road could lead to a landslide And one broken bone could ruin it all I'm watching my every single move I'm careful not to scare you away The faintest blow could lead to a hurricane And one wrong word could be the last thing I say.
With the end prize in mind, shift your eyes and Focus on the now. Prepare for the next [step]. You dont need to have it all figured out. You need only to be moving forward. - 21 Feb 19, 1119hrs - @desire.is.dope
One Step at a Time - 21 Feb 19, 1119hrs - @desire.is.dope
Bursts of creative passion, they used to come often for me but now it visits for mere hours every few months like a distant relative that might as well be another stranger. That passion I had was a tool or a weapon for attacking these things I hate about me but slowly it turned into a question, what didn't I hate about me? I had no clue. Practically I was holding the pen to my throat.
What comes next after admitting that you have some kind of problem? I had no idea, so I would just kept admitting it for years because I was afraid that the next step forward was surrendering my sense of pride. Giving someone else the keys to my mind and letting them take it for a test drive. They'd take it back to the shop, get it's oil changed and upgrade it's parts until it resembled anything passable. At that point could I even call it me? Is changing everything even an option for me? Upgrading cars costs money and so does their kind of therapy. I just wrote until I couldn't, I thought that was therapy but I guess it didn't go so well for me. So what comes next? "Real" therapy? Drugs? Depression? Looming doubt from everybody? Disappointment? Embarrassment? People asking what's wrong with me? Decreasing health? A lack of help? People mocking me and my struggle? It's like an empire that crumbles because there's a double agent who makes moves from the inside. That's like me versus me 'cause they're on different sides. Dual-personality, a lost sense of self? What can I make of my life? What scares me?
Condemnation for my past? Am I ultimately ****** to ****? Have I derailed off-track? I let my opinion deter me from meeting fact, when am I going to realize real life doesn't have a hack? Who knows? I sure couldn't say. If I ever did I think I'd throw a parade. See? That's what I do, I make jokes because I've got nothing left to lose. What pride can I claim? There's none in the truth. I spend unhealthy amounts of time thinking about learning to tie a noose. Where's the joke in that? Maybe it's me, I'm the joke so maybe I need to meet the noose for it to then be found funny.
I got no laughs for that, it's expected. I think I killed the mood instead, yeah it's pronounced dead. I acknowledge there's a problem with me but I'm too scared to take the next step.
Contentment is a fleeting thing Descendant of the peace but then Oversensing will begin Commencement of the mortal sin Empty out the medicine Then resentment will set in Ten steps towards the loony bin Guess I'll never make it since Contentment is a fleeting thing
Steps echo in the distance, Pitter, patter As I turn my head forward, leaving Accustomed to the silence in my wake, Eyes closed to the path that lays ahead.
Gazing at the floor beneath, Avoiding my surroundings; Unnerved, And yet these surroundings are pounding At my front door. I twist the locked **** carelessly And consistently Uncaring of my discomfort. Tiring Repetitive and yet Refining. Lock me out or I'll continue To open these doors
Silence At the front door To which I open again, Pitter patter Spinning the threads of Chaos again.
Ever written a poem and you're feeling it and then someone just cracks a crude noise and disturbs your flow? | The Step Series Revived: VII