hovering


between vertical and horizontal. with alcohol. between comfort and addiction. To running, to drinking. And I was born to stand and fight, heavy bones, big shoulders, lousy runner, but im running,

I muse, decide. running, or drinking, or both. they told me at karate, you have potential, concentration, reflexes. they could not know. say, darkness. half dark, half shadow, half cold, half dead. Easy to concentrate. Fear, shrouding and endless, faint and steady, like a pulse, easy for reflexes.

wasn’t always, life, it got to me. I thought nothing could, I could lose a limb, or two, my sight, my sanity, my liberty, my family, career, money, any damn thing. I could still clutch a fist and live. But life, it was smarter, it took my love. and I half died.

now i struggle, to believe in one love. the odds are worse than I thought. and still I am alone and waiting, I am self-inflicted damage, closed and unrelenting, im trying, to believe, to be, who I was born. right or wrong, broke and flew away, long ago.

 
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One Response

  1. mm, mad tight staccato rhythms, yeah, definitely on here… and I know this race we run is sometimes a struggle… but not to worry…we’ve all looped back around to find you and now we’re running with you to the finish line.

    Nicely done, Ms. Mist,
    Be well,

    ~Thanks Chico, I believe you’re right, thats very consoling to hear. You be well too, and keep writing!

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