When all the damage done by all the years spent living in the moments in which we live starts to subside;
To return to the ability to trust as delicately as with the innocence of a child,
Maybe then we’ll scream… love!
But what is more?
The pain inflicted on us by others,
Or that which we inflict on ourselves?
But what can justify self-loathing and disgust more than looking at a gushing wound and knowing that you alone are to blame for the pain which consumes you.
And so, we continue living in a constant battle between your own organs;
A heart that’s begging you to simply let it stop beating
And a pair of lungs that, given the chance, would refuse to let in any more air.
And still…you breathe.