I'm standing at the end of something, not sure if it's the end. I'm not sure what it is and I have no one to tell it to. There's the one who needs to hear the words, but their mind seems to be wrapped in and around somebody else. There's no counsel of sound foundation I can turn to. What can you do when you are reaching out and your hand consistently gets slapped down. What can a heart do when it's trying to find a silent place and it's surrounded by noise and terror? It does nothing. This is the answer I hear, you do nothing, but let things fall and break and see if anything can be made of the pieces. You watch your thoughts be rearranged into morbid little morsels of twisting pains. You get high off of contrived scenarios where you say everything on your mind, but when the 30 mins are over, you return to the deadness inside.
If life is funny, I keep missing the punchlines. I keep looking for sanctuary from the falling boulders of my crumbling spirit. I ask the stars for mercy, I dance for rain, and I bleed for sacrifice. Isn't that enough? I'm reaching out for postcards from the inner me. She seems to be on vacation in some sunny spot. She sends me visions of a life that sit's under trees for shade and sips waters that flow deep. I ask her if this is "ours" to which she replies, "leave your heart on the table as collateral to find out."
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