Do I fight it
Do I delight in it or do I despise it
Is there a purpose here
Why do I fear and why is the way ahead not clear
The answer itself is the question
The fear is the beckoning direction
The creation is in the bloody dissection
I feel the need to run
I feel the need to know I'm done
I feel I'm many but can't grasp one
To fight is my right
Though I'm told that sleep is for the night
The fine recline while I refine my mind
Wet as an invisible tear
As loud as sounds I cannot hear
So far apart when we get near
Each moments' hopes I commandeer
But do I want it
How mean it's taunt is
Extreme is me, though I was not born it
In the hornets nest again
Trying to discard what is pretend
I may one day know why I fight
But I will never know when I've reached the end
For every end has been where I began again
