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A body that doesn’t train → it weakens

A soul that doesn’t practice restraint → it dulls

Who am I doing this for?

Is it for your body—

to strengthen what has carried you this far?

Is it for your mind—

to quiet the noise and sharpen your focus?

Or

Is it for your soul—

to repair what years of neglect tried to break?

If not then what about for the people you love?

For the strangers who briefly witness your existence?

The person you should be doing this for the person you were was yesterday.

Not out of hatred—

but out of responsibility.

To prove to the version of you that already died—

that he was wrong.

That progress is real.

That change can be lived into.

And now, with nothing left to blame,

I was left alone with the inheritance of it all.

I just finished moving and I really like my new apartment so far, but I am going to miss the view from the old place.

And you're indifferent again;

Can't tel, it's love or ignorance?

I only wish that I could tell

Don't know if I do care for you.

But the look in your eyes,

it makes me want to vomit

Out all the feelings

Which I had before

Onto the beige

Stiff

Hardwood

Floors

Of the small house we could've lived in

But now it's all a story, memory, book

Undusted for longer than it's been

On the shelf

Of the small house we could've loved in

But, oh, none of it's your fault,

for when I open up the vault

In which I store myself,

A horridness of life, of lie, of being

Arises also in my chest

Ignoring all beginnings

And ruining all that I've become.

The bluebells ring

The flowers gather all around me

In silent song they speak to me

Of life, of death, of how they wish to be

And how their life'll never pass

The flies too, gather, also weeping

The world is dark, yet none are sleeping

The skies all envy us

They envy us as we are free

And unlike us they aren't to be

Only rain may free their tears

As tears'll run

My hopes become