My chest is sore from beating,
Thick with blood and lust and loss;
Of things I should expect,
From lessons learned and past along.
I kept possibility in the dark
But fear found me at last, alone.

The bullet from your barrel
Buried deep inside my skull,
Thwarts daringly, with memory,
The passage of my fall.

Convincing soup of reason
Hardly warms my longing core,
My thoughts, an antidote to the cure,
Want and healing leave me torn.

A win-less opportunity
That opens with my waking eyes
Is evident that weakness
Appears not only when I cry.

I take my days in increments,
Distraction as my guide,
And hope for the serenity and wisdom
To simply let this die.