I've searched the
outter expansions
of the miniature
thing that I've
called love and
I've come up
empty-handed just
a bit too much
for my comfort.
enter the jungle...
bleeding, torn into
pieces that words
couldn't mend. . .
i've fallen victim
to emotions that
would be a little
too much to describe
in words, looks, or
thoughts.
let's just
call them
monsters. . .
too many times
i've picked myself
up without ever
falling just to be
setup for the rise
again; it just seems
a bit too non-cliche
to be true.
maybe i'll one day
fall into normality
with the rest of
this jungle; but for
now i'll let the
river run through
me, not around me.
i'll embrace it as
if it was a stranger,
and i'll be as
apprehensive to it
as if it was my
lover. i'll seek
the goodness in it
like it was an
enemy, and i'll
aim to see the
worst like it
was my mother.
just revert back
to the stage
or normality, and
be not afraid, but
go by yourself; i'd
rather not acknowledge
its presence.
trust me, now . . .
i'd never lie to
myself.
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