Lines from this black box are too easily
made into thoughts in my head that I wish would not stay.
Why am I always ahead of this game?
In trying to I find there's nothing to save!
The times that I spend on my own are both blessings
and bastards depending on that way in which I
inflect on them; this changes daily and so what I'm
left with at the end of the day is this:
An elegant fury so blessed and sweet yet so cold
and ferocious when stood on its feet it scares
even me, half to death. Half awake, I sit here
today to move on without haste but the current
is strong and my idle thoughts weak. Things that
I care for, not nurtured, look bleak.
But as I ready myself to stand up and go out.
I only need think one more though here and now;
I am not alone.
Beat heart, beat.