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Thursday, March 9, 2017

Pull of the Abyss

I feel the tendrils creeping in

starting to erode, with tiny little pin holes,

my glowing paper lantern heart.

But this puckish trickery makes me doubt

the subtle dips, the gentle downward tugs.

I’ve walked this path before, ignoring all the signs,

until white walled halls had to pull me back out,

when I was so lost in my abyss

that bloody wrists and a mouth full of pills felt like hope.

Swore I’d never befriend grey, can’t-get-out-of-bed days again,

yet I can feel that draw seeping through,

so close the hairs on my arms sway and rise.

The Fighter

I have fought bare knuckled brawls

with bruises secreted away

from every pitying, bless your heart eyes

because I don’t need their pity

just like I don’t need yours

These scars are mine

These scars define me

I’m proud for every punch I gave back

for always rising when they knocked me down

for waking when they knocked me out.

I fought back, I always fight back

So, keep your damn pity and go to hell