It Breaks

It breaks when the sun goes down, and all I have are my thoughts.
It breaks when silence creeps forward and embraces me,
And realize I am not in the arms I want or the ones I need.
It breaks when the seasons change,
And another day goes by and all I feel is nothing.
It breaks when I call out, but there’s no reply.
It breaks, and sometimes I want to die.

It breaks when the sun goes down and I have is the dark around me.
It breaks when it’s cold and all I can do is shiver.
It breaks like bones under this crippling weight.
It breaks and my frail mind deteriorates.
It breaks and I lose myself, and I walk away and never look back.
It breaks, but I’m already gone.

It breaks when the sun goes down, and in my sorrows I drown.
It breaks when I don’t have that hand, and it feels like alone I stand.
It breaks like the bridge between the sun and moon,
I would like to cross it soon, but it’s just to far.
It breaks, and nothing is clear,
The mists roll in and the world begins to disappear.

It breaks like the chains in bitter ends,
And the red strings that tie knots of fate, but soon it rends.
It breaks like the soul with hope undone,
Meager spirits waste away and soon become none.
It breaks like glass, delicate and ever fragile, but admired not in ruined form.
It breaks like me in my darkest days, ever impaired by the thought of separate days.

It breaks beyond recognition and beyond repair.
It breaks like lungs in tainted air.
It breaks like the mind when left alone.
It breaks like when the hammer meets the stone.

It breaks like my heart when dreams become nightmares.
It breaks as bliss ends in fear and loathing.
It breaks like my heart when smiles form bitter glares,
That soon turn to longing, and eventually spiteful stares.
It breaks as joy ends in doubt and resentment.
It breaks like my heart in absent commitment.
It’s breaks as happiness ends in cold blood.
My heart, it breaks and I fade away.

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Shadows of Tartarus

Great maw of ever-spewing blackness,
That which weighs heavily on my mind,
Countless barbed tendrils that ensnare mine soul–
A rose who’s thorns that held my heart Fixed ever in painful bind.
Great beast face me now!
Even now as my courage wanes,
Even now as my knees shake,
And hands tremble as the Earth under the march of Titans.
My spirit will know not rest until you are slain,
And cursed to wallow evermore in the Shadows of Tartarus.

Wicked creature who’s forceful roar would make a soft gust of world-rending storms,
That which tosses my insides like useless trinkets.
Endless rows of teeth gnawing down on my hind side –
a pit to hold even the giants of giants captive,
Trapped ever in hopeless misery.
Great beast come to me!
Even now as my sword arm falls,
Even now as my heart jumps apace,
And the salt of mine eyes floods the Earth!
Great beast look upon me!
Know mine anger!
My being rests not until you know pain!
Wicked cur, don thine leash and grovel evermore in the Shadows of Tartarus!

Baby Steps

Shaking, fumbling, trudging along.
Slowly and unsurely stepping forward.
One small step after the other.
Not enough to be called walking just yet,
And hardly an improvement from crawling.
Nothing special here, just baby steps.

Wobbling, rocking, stomping along.
Carefully and insecurely stepping forward.
One small step after the other.
I don’t just want to walk, I want to run.
Nothing impressive here, just baby steps.

Trembling, stumbling, pacing along.
Unconfidently and questioningly stepping forward.
I moved better when I crawled,
Now here I am wanting to forsake it all.
Nothing spectacular here, just baby steps.

Staggering, lumbering, shuffling along.
Hesitantly and reluctantly moving forward.
A half-step following the next.
Falling back to my hands and knees,
Failure is all the heart sees.
I’m sick and tired of these baby steps.

Leaps and bounds, winds ripping by.
Life blurs into oblivion in the corner of my eye.
A breakneck pace is too slow.
Rushing forward at full charge.
Remnant sensations of a memory now.
The grasp of missing, dull burn of phantom pain.
Intense longing, and unquenched yearning refuse to wane.
To break away from these baby steps;
Not to walk again, but to run.
There’s nothing great here, just baby steps.

Nothing fun here, just baby steps.
No joy, no pleasure, just baby steps.
A shadow of what walking could be,
At a pitiful pace slower than a crawl.
Sometimes I trip, sometimes I fall.
They aren’t pretty, these baby steps are,
But I’m on my way.