I am Alive

In the darkest hour, in the bloom of self-surrender and shameless vulnerability, there is that part of me I like to call alive. Standing tall, bathed in anger, and weeping like a child, it is a desperate howl that roots itself straight out of my dying heart and into a world that could not care any less.

About everything it could be.

About everything it has done.

Noting only the genuinely wrong things that it’s let stain my life to a black, gushing wound of pitiful slipups.

I am aware. I am awake. And I am the thoroughly written love-letter towards a corpse called ennui. Past my success, past my blessings, there is the failure of my life that my mind cannot wait to sleep with. I let these moments pass with me only being half in them. Let the time of this world slide by as I allow the biggest part of me to run in the fire of its heart, soar in the electricity of its soul. Be in the life it one day hopes to fully live.

I am exhausted. I am ravished into unbalance by the fatigue of living a pure lie. Too often, on the brink of my capability to divide myself, I am faced with two options. Either let me live or let me die. The one sure thing I know in life is that I am much better than the festering fib I’ve permitted my time to be wasted on. Much better than what the mutation of reality of this reality has forced upon my head.

I am human. Able, artistic, and, in my entirety, lacking a moment where change can’t touch me. I ask and beg for it to hit me for the better. Wring a punch through my body to the point where I have a reason to scream the anguish of my spirit right at the heart of my problems.

I am alive. To the receiving end of madness and the facts that this world will push me to my limits and nothing less. So, be it. As long as I am living a life worth living, a life I enjoy, a life I expose to every reason this world can give me to live. Pain, fear, hate, and envy, let it all come. So, long as I stand, so long as I truly exist, I am here to live.