Bloody Knuckles

Freak, frack, give me a fucking break, are you serious, shut up, get me the hell outta here, never wanna see your ugly mug again!

That's the pain of trying over and over again. The internal dialogue while sipping tea. Thoughts no one knows you're speaking, cause on the outside civility is name of the game and most acceptable. We all know this.

When you're keeping it real, or trying to at least, the line of civility gets smudged away from the constant drag of your knees crawling, begging to find salvation.

Is the pain worth it?

I'm still trying to sort that answer out. Trying while maintaining a sliver of dignity and pride. Staying true feels damn lonely. Only a few accept when you're being truly authentic. The ugly authentic. The kind that only close friends know exist, while the rest of the world thinks you've lost all your marbles, ignorant or killer selfish.

24/7 Decency is a handsome mask. It's okay to be ugly - sometimes.

And for the longest while, months upon months stitched together, all I could feel was ugly. I tried, and succeeded most days to keep it civil, sane and true. But within the darkest of spaces, where the civil world dissolves like rice paper, within fragments lasting within seconds - ugly thoughts compounded.

Doors slammed, roads shook, reality choked, as I deliberately erased faces from eternal memory. All for survival. I was on the edge, parched from thirst, the beating of acid rain hitting my brain. The clouds clinging, merciless - I was fighting several wars at once: Body, Soul and Mind.

I belong here. No there. Maybe nowhere. This constant state of wander butchering every fruitful idea and morsel of creativity I thought I had. It was slipping, all of it, between my fingers.

And just as the last rumble brought me to my knees, where falling down and never getting up felt right, a hand reached down, a soft voice called, and a gentle breeze comforted my cheek.

side note: a few days ago I dreamed I was making my bed. The image was so clear, I knew it was significant.

Maybe...