Scribbled Thoughts

Merge

with your best version

but draw

your final breath

before you can enjoy

the power

of being complete.

No one is ever truly

complete

and alive.

Fear of death

gives birth to me,

the siever of souls

too anguished to try,

but whose beautiful screams

fuel my strength

and keep those opposing

me on their knees.

Enter the empty garden

of hardened dirt

and try soften

with blood,

soak it into the ground

and see what

life you create,

crawling its way up

through bloodlust.

Use the past’s covers

to weave

a loved one’s gift,

strands of your own hair

forming the stitches

and creating a symbol

of a chosen family

who you trust

and will never replace.

Count the successes

and decide

if they can be

tricked away

before you consider

the option

of playing fair

and meeting me

on equal ground.

Farm the fish

with legs,

shoot from a distance

and watch them

dissolve

into experience

for you to drink

and challenge

the real power

beyond.

Hidden

instead of

believed in,

disguise yourself

and fear with me

rather than

being encouraged

to dream of fantasy

becoming real

and stepping out

into the sun.

Sleep through pain

but wake to agony.

Is it the only proof

you are alive?

Or will enduring it

one day show

an existence

of hope and change.

Calculate a lie

and hope

it becomes real

so peace remains balanced

and your day

isn’t disrupted

with emotions.

The ideal me

is still the same

but more resilient.

Not taller or smarter,

because who would that be?

A fantasy so built up

the original is gone.

I will not change myself,

and you shouldn’t

wish me to.