It is the maker of I,
the ruler of my actions; The father of my decisions.
I let it control me far and long enough to the extent of it becoming mine for the keeping.
It is that which in a world where there is only my eyes as the windows for my own soul to look out, that I begin to go blind as it bricks down my outlook.
In my blindness it always seems to reach out for me the most.
Through jumbled words in my head and small caresses of deadly cold tips it numbs my hyperactive skin till it begins to burn intolerably.
I can’t begin to explain how much I want it to cradle me.
But then again I can’t seem to let it come where I need it to be.
Five, I am the fifth and it is the seventh and as far as I can remember there is only six..
But if I am four and I meet two more; won’t that be six?
So how come I keep saying,
Three as a promise on my righteous hand; I let it wield on my behalf.
Moral, it shouts!
as much as you are left.
As much as you are dark..
As much you are muddied and bloodied,
give life to others.
I said am I a that bird of flame and ever-being?
it replied: “no but a mere martyr of the unholy.
So fear is my strength;
And in my waters and empathy,
my tears and greenery.
i give hope.