The edge of an aged, old blade
Its rust will flake away for me
Old friend, remember what I said?
The next time we met—
Not another night could pass
Not one more mark I make can live to see tomorrow
For too long they’ve been front view gates
Opened wide to the dark of my grave
Look my way, this time a plan surrounds
The ache in my voice, of my frame as I go
And run them out for you,
I break further down for you
An old painting I’ve been thinking about lately. Memories and where all of these things come from…just been on my mind. Too much of my time is spent coping with life and living rather than actually living. I live as if I don’t deserve a life. Believing I don’t for so long – everything is rougher, colder, even the familiar faces I fear will turn at any moment. Where nothing good is guaranteed and every difficulty is a given. Worse can be counted on. How there’s anything human or alive left escapes me. I wait now. The day will get here and I will be what I must be when it does.