Survival

We burrow our way through each other’s lives Nurturing wounds we pretend to believe. Time, a sieve for palpitations created By the language of the heart. Using words commingled from The breast of the best We hope for our own salvation, But clarity is just a day without clouds. The only breath taken without remorse Is the one taken by God. Blowing matter across the windswept plains Of our spirit with just enough salt For one more irritation. Each inclination of indignation Turns to residual action Where suicide is survived. Every blink transitions Into the floating lash of someone’s whip, Embracing a stranger’s back with another kiss. There is no precious cargo here. There never was. Like all dead end kids We give up, grow up, Throw up, And survive.