Some days you write a poem because being alive is too hard,
these words crawl shakily from the tip of my pen
as if too afraid of reality to commit suicide on the pure page,
but still the pen bleeds black across the surface,
charcoal tears concealing the charred remains of my heart,
my hurt from when I held the sun too dear.
Some days silence is the only answer to the questions echoing
as my eyes beg to drink in perfection
but all I can manage to do is give them absolution in darkness
so sleep and pray for a better tomorrow.
Pray for a mountain to climb and a dragon to defeat, to desire
because only in triumph can you cry.
Some days it is better to succumb to the sadness and secede,
refuse to preserve your image
and simply exist in the moment as if begging for death
but in that moment truly living.
Seek shelter from the sun but let the rain wash away the scars
leaving behind only memories, gleaming.