i just woke up...

a signal to then as an end to the redundant cliche,
the motions consist of pushing the pen aside, then pulling it back in.
the goal to emulsify our existence as coating to my soul still persists.
i light the match and linger under the end of the fuse.
ready to blow the bridge i contemplate the end between both thumb and finger.
patience does not work with a lit flame,
for sooner or later the light burns out.
the match crumbles and scars the hand,
but effects the chest,
burning straight through the heart.
i leave with a steady hand and a steadfast gaze ahead.
so i picked up my whole heart and sprayed through the burned away hole,
just to stencil the way through the glamorous maze.
marking my path with intentions of probably wanting to go back and retrace steps.
"far too often a blank page is left idle".
far too often i've become content with that phrase.
amidst the green i sit back and settle,
only to constantly glance through the haze at a portrait i hold of women named hope.
with a blurry view of the horizon the blame is thrown upon ones self.
with a blind view of the goal, i pick up the tablet and inscribe a message to my future self.
i kiss the stone and cast it off the ravine.
in turn, i cut out my tongue with the expectation of it returning.
discarding it's aim off the cliff, i wander aimlessly through the forest.
now my image begins to fade.