Seeing faces not spoiled by beauty, and I carry those cuts and scars from where I have been, and at times I am able to see through most of the masks that are worn. If there is a light then it shouldn’t go out, for there is a lot that is dark which rolls through without any doubts, from within and without. With there being times I find myself standing here in the pouring rain, watching as light tries to wash over me, along with hope, and faith.

Standing here with weapons in hand, I saddle up and head out looking for a better day, with darkness walking by my side in the form of my shadow as I head alone down these lonely roads. Recalling those lies I was told, as I head down the line; which feels like a fine borderline close to the ragged edge of what some consider to be my mind. One of those lies was me being told I was magnificent, with a cold faded heart along with ice water in my veins. And when it struck the street I knew at once I was not magnificent, and just another one of the lies I was told. And in some ways it is and was part of me and apart from me.

There were times too when I thought I could see for miles and miles, and instead just ran into those smoke screens along with the other obstacles placed in my way. But, I was always able to see that strange arrival from a thousand miles away. Coming out of the darkness, and into the light while leaving the scene of a crime, and I have been called both a joker and a fool in the same breath. There are times when it’s all or nothing at all, without ever knowing how much I might have left in me.

Either I’m lying awake coming apart at the seams, while being eager to please or willing to fight, or there are times when I am totally cool, like a crystal or the razor edge of a knife. I also feel at times I have set myself up for the kill; still some things still live on inside of me, along with a bitter taste and a smell of ashes. Still there are things I believe in and for that I wonder if I can still feel, and finding I remember everything, as all those I have known have appeared and then disappeared like smoke.

Feeling at times as if I am wearing a crown of thorns under those stains of time I carry, along with those scars the sun’s dark light couldn’t or wouldn’t heal; in the form of all the broken thoughts, and shattered dreams I have had that can’t be repaired. Making me wonder what I have become as I see those lines on my hands and wonder if I should stop where I stand, and believe what they say? Feeling myself being struck by sound across my face, trying to knock the choices from my head. And watching as those finest silver threads unwind between my fingers knowing that they cover all I have left behind me.

Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: November 2015 – 16