Victory over Failure

Life right now...

like crawling on sandpaper.

Every single movement

against the grains

rips my skin to shreds,

and I really can't do anything to stop this kindled infancy.

Every time I try to speak,

to cry for help,

I only pour out the gasses that kill 

- the gasses that can't be breathed

Don't breathe.

Mask.

Chamber.

Clear.

Hope.

Hope it works.

Just hope it's all worthwhile.

Live to go on dying.

Why else would I be dragging myself through this barbed wasteland

in wanting of something I know that I'll never achieve?

As I look around, I hope I can find something, anything to salvage from Hell.

But I know I can't afford the weight.

It'll just add to my misery.

But the log in my eye has already made it.

If closing your eyes and counting to ten doesn't work,

give counting sheep a chance.

Relax.

Board the ship and drift.

Shut your eyes now.

Don't worry about waking up from this slumber.

Just sleep.

Out of blackness I awoke,

an old black shadow appeared before me,

perhaps just an apparition

created by the dried wasteland,

my mind's drought,

but he cupped his hand and knelt.

He blew life into me,

He begged me to rise.

And then, I bloomed to life.