I am sick and tired
At the end of my line, is where I stand.
The flames churn but never ignite, forced at bay
By the water that pools in my veins.
Rivers and floods stem from endless rage that seems to stunt every growth, the way a fire gone bad can take down the largest of redwoods,
Snuffing out every hope is the red and angry orange hues that spread and cut
Like glass that has fractured with heat and time,
How time seems to be the only final destination for it
Of course, a mere stone thrown about at it could easily make a crack, at the end of the day, it's just
A mark. A piece of the puzzle of the lifetime of a glass windowpane.
The fire sings sweetly in my mind, it pools and cools in my veins.
It replaces the water that calmed it turning to seething hot lava,
Searing to the touch of the agony of the heart.
A mix- a perfect blend
Of sanity and uncontrollable fire
Of ash that burns skin til blistered and bleeding and gentle water which drips from clouds to heal it.
Sick and tired, I stand at the end of
Patience, sanity, stability
Wondering if I should continue to stand, or tumble
Down
Into the deep
With nothing but agony that fills my lungs
