Kill off what's left of my sanity;
It's a simple task.
Forget to throw caution to the wind,
And just tromp over it.
Conveniently forget that my fragile being is in jeopardy of hurling itself from the cliff.
Misplace the idea that I'm a weak little boy who can't find his way.
The winds of severance seem to be cutting away at the words that fall from my lips,
Spiraling, out of control, toward the edge of reason,
Desperate to find the solid foundation on which they can stand,
Unafraid,
Steadfast and stoic.
Wounding the heart that I've so lovingly placed in your eyes,
You find the right things to say to cut straight through me.
Your words, they flutter from your own lips,
Falling gracefully to meet mine in battle,
To see which has more spine, more backbone.
The literary clash resounds into the fabric of our time,
Resonating through our innards.
Bruised, bloody, and most certainly broken,
My words are no match.
They crumble in the admittance to defeat.
And a solitary feather whisks by in the breeze,
Proving that peace is just a dream that we could never catch.

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