With the weight of the world upon me I can't hold my head up high, because after seeing the beauty that’s been destroyed I seem to be in freefall and cascading through the void. Having hope and prayer hidden underneath my wounds that have become those scars I carry, and it seems to be where the demons have their home. They say there's a strength to letting some things go so the truth can be exposed. Suddenly it seems as though my eyes are opened with all things coming into sharper focus.

Time waits for no one and tomorrow shouldn’t be feared, and should be given a try with all fears being faced down instead of being blinded by them. And begin to question those things we know, and think the cracks in our logic would begin to show. Especially during those nights that seem long and stretch out like a long double edged blade. Holding on to only faith and those things we hold sacred, with clenched fists until the dawn’s dark light.

Everything seems to be made to be broken, and n obody ever said it was going to be easy when moments go passing by along with those dreams being lost, like those letters written never sent. Life should be more than who we are, with rumours becoming our history as the truth seems to be avoided or distorted and hidden. Becoming our own reflections with real life becoming what is most wanted to be able to feel. Being free would be all right and to be able to run like hell in my own heat is all that is really needed now.

Wondering if I am someone’s prayer, or am I in their prayers? For I seem to have died a thousand times over and have been flexible enough to come back each time reinvented in some way, and managed to pick a form of culture well in the form(s); of the that Mangy Motley Crew, and those I would stop a bullet for. Forgotten truths are carried that many think are never real, and time will never steal my soul. I remember wanting to offer it for sale once but the joke was on me because he wouldn’t even take a bite, or cared that I considered it.

Been asked as to what I really want at times and I have tried to make it clear that all I want are better days along with faith, trust, and peace while time and life march onward. Finding myself waking in those breakdowns of those things we never thought we could be, and now trying to break free but then again the moment has passed like Dylan said it will in the blink of an eye. Half of the world is sleeping while the other half just dreams, yet somehow I seem to merely be gone as I try to be heard.

And if silence is felt held inside then everything means more now than words could ever say, and it seems as more is being looked at to be said. And I have heard it said: You only live twice: Once when you are born, and once when you look death in the face. So I wonder since I have done both does that mean I am on my third try at this Vale of Tears known as life? When I am old and near the end I guess I’ll just go home and start again.

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