My trips down memory lanes are ridden with dead ends. How I wish I could have saved us all. I wish I couldn't sit in paradise and feel hell licking its lips against mine, trying to kiss away my stitches I have sewed against its wishes.
I was never enough for anyone, but what else should be expected of undeveloped shoulders when placed under 6.6 sextillion tons. It stunted my growth, if only for a time. I still find it hard to hope. It seems I cannot loose my own arthritic holds without cringing: bleeding bitten lips trickling ago into rivers of unknowns.
But I live. I have ascended a throne of frozen knights and broken bones. I was bred a soldier, and I will fight until the end. These purple hearts I've urned now decorate my soul. I have come back home, fused from fuchsia tints and darkened blues, fortified by war.
Whistling in bitter winds.
The world is not as bright as it was, nor will it ever be again; however, I cannot give up now. I have come to far to fall on clouds. These stars still reflect in my arid glimpse, wishing for tears of happiness. I have not shed my skin in too many years to remember. Too many to remember. Until the end.
Once you have beaten demons, you learn to live without fear.
You learn to let go.
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