long pointed nails open an envelope…
how can i stand on the shoulders of giants,
when i can’t even reach their hands?
how can i pass through the screaming silence,
when i can’t even follow their plans?
dante’s plaque warns to abandon hope…
but i cannot stop climbing,
though my hands are tired and worn,
i will never cease seeking the heights that define me
even after my fingertips bleed to the bone and my thin skin is torn,
a near-quaking voice calls out, mandating a reply…
and I, just wait,
because that is all it’s going to take
for all my problems and issues and illnesses to dissipate,
for the daughters of nyx, life itself, and luck to stop the ache.
and this is the moment where it is do or cry…
since, i guess, i don’t really want it to stop,
as the pain of it lasting takes me nearly to hell or heaven,
and the thought of it going away makes my heart drop
so because of this real calm hasn’t been attainable since the age of seven.
now a rollercoaster thunders past at a loss of control…
and the worst part is that it’s just a pinch,
no stabbing wound, bleeding out streams
it’s not even a cut about the depth of an inch,
nothing remotely reaching of any extremes,
but even so, sometimes simply biting your tongue can take its toll.
