Still Standing

2 steps away from death 1 away from flavor. The one tasting like 32 different colors of sky. 6 steps closer to maybe giving up. Forgiving the captions stamped into my 8 degrees of being broken. Letting it go, freezing over the path, maybe I'll breathe my last breath somewhat happy.

78 feelings portrayed underneath blue eyes. One second is all it takes. 6168 days still the same old fears. 881 weeks to suffer every penalty for doing all we were told. Skin crippling nostalgia captures the light on a dark black stage.

Standing alone, blinded, there's no voice inside. Can't break open the bottles. Scars never seemed so overrated. Living never seemed lower than love. Until now. Until I was told, "You're bad". When they turned. No matter how loud I scream, how insufferable it feels, how crazy it seems, how hard I pound, needless to say the seconds tick by when begging isn't even shameful, I'm still unheard. Can't be seen. Like being buried, no one happens to notice until late are the words uttered.

Cruel weeks tear the skin apart.

Faith was broken. Unlucky muttered the fool. Shaking his head. Even turned his back. Every name, every page, scribbled through. Leaving holes. Address book ripped to torn. Smudged pages, numberless names. I was out of quarters anyway. Can't even lie to myself anymore.

Drum beat I'll move to. Sacred is your heart when it needs saving. Deceptive it becomes when pain never existed. Not now. Safe and warm. Unfaithful you'll stand useless. Webster got promise wrong. It said keeping your word Carrying it through. Same old feeling, never gets dragged. Only beauty is pierced.

1 step away from death. 3,000 from hope. Only hope beneath my fingernails, tasted sorrowful, bitter, fattening. Deadly. Poisened. Cold. Burning cheekbones when called to the stand he doesn't show. Trying so hard. The jury stands, God's of judgement. God's of chess pawns. God's of discontinued life. Somehow life an unlivable game. A bubble, one unable to withstand knives. Delicate, so beautiful when you look at it. Suffocating, silly, wobbly, gone. Child's toy. Nothing more than another illogical percentage. Another number existing inside your textbook. A closing one.

Scribbled and old. Everything replaced. Everyone moves on, to other worlds, or just with the times. Moving on away from me. Tangled here, empty. Shredding, still feeling. It never left. Looking dead. Feeling dead, alone, never burned this bad, but I'm so alive. So so alive.