How is it that I keep coming back to the very thoughts that once haunted me? Like going for seconds on an expensive buffet, your tongue greedy for what you liked.
Why has my tongue started liking the taste of blood just like that?
Why do I now find peace in the very storm that scared me?
Why am I not scared of the dark anymore?
How come I don't cry when it burns anymore? Do I not feel it anymore?
I still find myself, underwater, tied to the very same stones. But now I don't struggle to reach up, gasping.
I've just now called the water my air, the sharks my friends and made it home. I've untied myself and still chosen to stay there.
But I ask myself, why?
Have my demons finally won?
Am I finally numb?
Have I finally given up? I couldn't have.
Maybe I've changed I state as I glance at myself through the broken mirror.
I guess I change, the innocence in my eyes replaced by darkness, a chilling mysteriousness on my face.
And my hands, red, dripping with blood, which seems to be my own.
Don't we all have blood on our hands? Our own blood? Don't we all kill parts of ourselves at some point, to keep the struggle of surviving? I thought as I further looked at myself.
And maybe I was right, maybe I really didn't give up.
Maybe I'm not scared of the storm anymore because I cut of my shell and shaped it into the most powerful of wings and chose to rise above it
I guess it doesn't burn anymore because I killed the sparrow and was reborn to be a phoenix and the fire in my veins is far stronger.
I'm not scared of the dark anymore because I've swallowed up dying stars that fell in the water and the shine in through me, like poetry.
Maybe I did kill off parts of myself, but only to wear them like a crown and to create a throne to sit in and not a grave to lie in.
