I guess I'll have to face
That in this awful place
I shouldn't show a trace of doubt
But pulled against the grain
I feel a little pain
That I would rather do without
I cannot believe that the people I know died and were dragged by their tongues out of the dirt and turned into wild beasts
The death of something inhonorable, but great to those who knew it. It was a poison, but it was drunk like wine and eaten like the flesh of the unworthy, killing those who took too much.
I took a taste. I lay wilting when I realized that the thing I found so great was my poison, and reluctantly, I let it go, like a drug, and I tried to heal on medicines born of new poisons and new people. I am nothing but addictions I cannot stop and lies I am fed and attempts I will never end.
This is nothing but endless rambles acting like they are more than they are, written by someone who thinks they are less than they are, given a name and a title and a pretty cover. That's it. That's everything there is and everything there ever was. I am going to scrape the skin and cut the hair of everything I ever was and wipe the blood off the body of what is left. It is all I can do for myself and this story and the sour strawberries it once grew.
I am the song of fire and dance of ash; the story of being reborn over and over and over, and burning everything that was once something during life, over and over and over. It is an endless cycle of not knowing what to do and keeping the knowledge of what I have to myself in an act of quiet selfishness.
At any point may someone silence my song with the rain, or end my dance with the wind- or may they make my voice grow louder with kindle and join my dance with the remnants. I am a poison and a medicine all at once, and a song and a dance and a life and a death, with no honor to abide by and no wine to drink or flesh to eat.
May my death be something memorable, but my name be forgotten
