The sullenly sudden separation between sword and stone were sadly signifying that we were both growing old. The vibrancy in your eyes has started to grow dull, as your determination, and drive for life have suddenly come to a lull. I look at you and no longer see the passion that once lived behind your eyes, no longer see the little man who had the biggest plans. Has life been this bad to you? To make you lose your will to excel? Or is it that with each new day, you are miles away from what you came here for anyway and closer to your own personal Hell. I glance in the mirror and realize that this man is me, yet instead I choose to circumflect, and pretend that he is outside of my own body. By accepting no fault, the onus becomes anyone else's but my own, taking responsibility for my lack of self-love entails that these sins are not mine to atone. Blood on my fingers from the crimes I commit, hoping the glove will not fit and that the jury acquits. Knee deep in my own grime and grit, how much longer will this man allow this to permit? When will my reflection show who I am inside, instead of revealing the weaknesses and failures from which I have so long attempted to hide? No concealer or foundation could cover the scars that shroud my heart, only time, the ultimate healer, will allow for me to rise from the ashes and gain a fresh start. I can no longer accept the man in the mirror that does not reflect the man I am inside, all frustrations aside, I will conquer this Earth, and become a household name, worldwide.
Time stood still for nary a soul, it dragged its feet, aching and old. Blistering heat that made us melt, we were once softer than silk felt. Hallowed hearts wind whistled through, covered in bruises, black and blue. Hardly broken, but maybe bent, running on empty and love spent. There comes a day in all our lives, when our failures cut deep as knives. But you shall remain a triumph, you stayed with me, like a science. Words were whispered, curses, we'd shout, until the blood drained from our mouths. Yesterday—softer than silk felt; seems like all we do these days is yell.
Comments