#daretowrite

Hi Rie! Hope you're having a good day :}

Spina looked away first. Twenty-four in Normandy. Four in Holland. Five in Bastogne. Eight in Foy. Lipton was still breathing beside him, uneven and quiet as he slept. Luz kept counting. Forty-six in Normandy. Twenty-two in Holland. Fourteen in Bastogne. Five in Foy.

I'm at ease knowing that I got myself to fight for

My dreams a high branch I'm trying to reach for

To climb up to the fruitful blessings to devour

I'm at ease knowing that I know myself completely

My character is no longer a defensive Armour

But a golden sculpture that I display openly

I'm at ease knowing that my soul is devoid of negative thorns and inner wars

I'm no longer pierced by my failures

Instead, I'm crowned by the Diamante sparkles of my worth

As I sit here, on my fortress of discovered confidence

I'm at Ease

transcript under cut

A realization, like a hand raised, colossal apex swinging towards a debutant.

And is he an elder, him waiting there by the window in the corner? Duty ascendant, pungent onus collecting dust on the sill which

happens to be where I prostrate my deity, she balances her pelvic floor atop a golden ball, her chariot called Kapidhwaja. 

Wrinkle handed my father is the charioteer, a resentful man. In the corner of his basement a shivering furnace for 

that which birthed him left him, haunting. Spores that plume when drowsy lynch pins sag and yawn. Lungs that let out air, wanting. 

I inherit a tangled mane. To have lost him like this is the view from that corner, years before he birthed me was also a time, like this: 

7 times I wake up in the night to make sure the faucet is not running, not running off, galloping the way it goes on in my dreams. 

Then when I return there it is again, next to you on the futon, a living wraith, depleted -a sexless diluted thing -How else can I describe these permeable feelings, cold sweat. 

Pivoting my ankle side to side, I probe for tenderness. A sigh shifts weight, shoulder propped against the wall. My 

fingertips, bluffed summits, forge battles in the dust on the sill. Have I been here before? The view out the window is of the wall of the building next door.

I thought I was far away from it, but that doesn't matter because that addiction was, and still is, here in me. No matter how hard I try, how long I pray, it is like a chewing gum. Hard to remove. And even if I did, it is hard to clean off. Those remains invoke for new tenants.

But on the bright side (not the cloud one), a storm is brewing. I don't know why, but as a child I couldn't wait to feel the sadness, the pain in my chest, to find the definition of depression on my own. And now, when all of that is present, I can not wait for rain to clean me. From inside out. Through the reflection of my mind.