There’s a grievance I’ve been brewing. Since urges first got to me. And left me some frustrated. Bent, broke, on wounded knee’s.

It started with little objection. This feeling found new. Until fear then rage replaced it. Rejecting any of it as true.

To hurt to hear the truth from you. Ashamed I can’t ask why. A riot in my mind ensues. Convulsing now as I cry.

In this afterbirth I’m left standing in. Where a sinking feeling looms. Gaining no traction treading these waters. Am I doomed to sink down to its depths forever residing there entombed.

Lucid still left to contemplate. That was it? My fifteen/slice of the pie? Yes I was lost in love. The best/worst drug. Stricken sightless. And soft in the head. I guess I’m just another victim. That first loves left for dead.

Long after the storm fades

and the squalls have whittled to dust

He stands at the edge of the precipice

wailing in misery and burning with

Loneliness.

If only he had been faster

If only he had been better

If only he had been gone

but he is not, and all that's left is

Resentment.

The blue dot keeps spinning

Seeds grow and weeds die

He crouches at the edge of the world

above the crypt that holds what remains

Darkness closes in and the smoke breeds

Uncertainty.

But light pierces forth; breaching the wrath

of the twilight and scattering the smog

He sobs at the edge of what's lost

Tears springing from the cracks in his facade

A breath of freedom escapes the chains of

Guilt.

Warmth caresses his weary soul

sounds of life radiate through the barren land

He kneels at the edge of the precipice

Despite it all, laughter ripples through

the ashes float past; a new spirit rises

that is how he heals, that is his

Gratitude.

I write to ignite frightened minds and remind them of the might they might be inclined to find inside the confines of life interwined with divine vibes and sublime rhymes propeling lives to rise and thrive. I write because words are magic and sentences are spells, and the thought of underutilizing ourselves is tragic so I feel frantic to go savage and ring some chilling bells. I write because letters are elements, words are molecules, and paragraphs are the means to create worlds forming books upon shelves. I write because I can.

Understand?

I just wrote 357 words with rhyming,

And tedious spacing.

I then planned to just say:

"I'm labeled as Indie",

So I can be different,

Clever, and witty.

Cause I thought the limit was 15

But then realized it's not,

It's just the fucking beginning.

I also swear in my prose,

Look at how cool I am.

I'll just show my apathetic aesthetic towards societal's notions of trendy,

And how I prefer to break up stereotypes,

Obviously.

I'm just being sarcastic now.

An eccentric, hardly human, half-empty shell,

A patient, humorously shady, magician,

An awkward, foolish loophole-finder.

A dark, anti-political, introvert, prone to a default state of pushover'dness

An emotional child scared to face the horrors of humanity

A professional escapist stuck at eternal indecisiveness.

A slave of Yesterday,

A victim of Today,

&

A distant dreamer avoiding tomorrow.