Here comes the fall down.
Lower the body finds itself,
ever further than prior reaches,
in ceaseless descension to bottommost echelons.
A decline to rockier bases,
fistfuls of gravel for fruitless climbing to discover an edge.
Disheveled surfaces reduced to window dressing.
Sharp intonations of agony at the behest of jagged crevices
are the cushions at the end of a day’s struggle towards the dawn’s glimmer.
Wounds proceed unreconciled,
but a facet of reality of regions beneath,
unable to be noticed as more than a breath’s absent purpose.
Braced for the cyclical tumble wrapped in self-pity,
post-it note therapy,
ugly coping weapons to pave over discard,
the burn of asphalt solutions an unclean reunion at trauma’s doorstep.
Awake in awareness of a faltering glow.
Depleting sustenance births serrated ideas
sliding hacksaws along a troubled staircase winding wherever else,
never attainting anywhere else;
a regression to starts that never truly begin,
and endings accelerate to their rehearsed consequences.
Serrated ideas impose a warforged hold,
prowling the lanes of asphalt solutions,
shuttering infrastructure that desperately cloaks shattered frames,
stores emptied of reserves in a cry for rationing,
all the brightness cascading to a familiar background bereft of aspiration.
It concludes to commence again.
In this, it is a failure of being.
It is an acceptance of the mediocrity of normalcy.
Off to experience sunsets in negative;
A failure to live.
( Mitch ❤ )