Battle Scars

There is a fire in my veins this night, and I shall blaze across the skies, as I must learn to tame this light, lest it burn deep behind my eyes. There are ghosts of battles in my breath, from wars that play out in my mind, whilst I speak, the tremor of true love bereft, can be detected by kin and the kind. My sleep, an inescapable venue for the parody, rehearsed by monsters on a satirical stage, delivering wounding lines deep into me, that narrate waking life page by page. Tonight is the one where I empty myself, of love, and hope and dreams, necessitated by madness and draining of health, of collapses, and cries and screams. I shall not sit dormant long enough, as I need ink for my writing, I will pen more words of loss or love, when my subconscious mind stops fighting. Begrudgingly I understand now I need, this love, this caring, this pain, it is born of aptitude not want nor greed, so I shall visit those lands again. I shall wield a mighty double edged sword, as the march is beaten out by my heart, with gusto I will charge right toward, the embrace of my next counterpart. That first touch, that spark, that melts inside, to the sweet fanfare that halts the war, The perception of time that at least for a stride, to have torture and loneliness no more. 90 parts spent aching and breaking and spent, and feeling like there should be no tomorrow, I will be strong and strive towards that 10 per cent, where the requited replaces the sorrow. So sleep now and ready to bare your skin, at the morning as it illuminates your pillow and mind, suck up the darkness and stow it within, as you are beautiful, and alive, now, rewind.