Damaged Goods

One of these days the ground’s going to break.
And with it my foundation will be swept away.
But the me I am was made for this.
The wind will always steal my grip.
Time lovingly kisses old wounds.
But conjures up new fears.
If I am to be anything at all, let me be clear.
On top of isolated cliffs to house my escape.
My thoughts run deep like the sea I create.
These mountains will fall into the water below.
And with them, my strength will erode.
I bit my tongue long enough to watch it bleed.
Won’t spill my lungs if I cannot speak.
Red trickling down, consuming my attention.
Won’t feel at all if all I feel is self-deception.
Staggering along the edge of reality and fiction.
It’s in this state I find my true condition.
I am the ghost of a ghost.
Of twisting hearts and shivering homes.
I am the ghost of a ghost.
Of broken men and hollowed out bones.
The product of being raised by wolves.
Every word I screamed into the walls,
becomes every night terror’s default.
Lost my voice to the echoes of unachievable dreams.
I wither beneath fleeting sleep.
Tried to stop the bleeding.
Don’t want you to feel what I’m feeling.
Free me from the anxious height.
My composure’s unsteady, I’m losing the fight.
Stretching the limits of perseverance.
Coupled with a lack of insight to believe it.
I used to be terrified that if I survived, I’d find nothing.
My greatest fear is having something but never enough.
I know that there’s goodness within me.
But tomorrow is never a guarantee.
If all my time spent ends in despair,
I’ll shed my skin to find passion somewhere.

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