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Railway tracks.

Sea.

Tides.

Wave.

Tell me

is it me

or you

we’re trying to save?

Carry a torch.

Light the cage.

Some doors don’t open

till you age.

If you think you’re history,

name the page,

where you lay your bones,

your fear, your rage.

If I squeeze my thoughts,

they drip like paste,

ketchup red

from a crowded brainspace.

My mind is packed,

no room, no space,

ideas collide

then melt into waste.

I can’t imagine

you chewing my heart,

but if you do,

don’t tear it apart.

Will I live long enough

to ask your taste?

Did it feel real,

or easy to waste?

If yes…

oh yes…

you passed the test.

You saw my mess

and called it best.

Thoughts grow wings,

escape the nest,

circle my skull,

never rest.

No matter the spell

you try to use,

I bend, I break,

but I still choose.

I still rise.

I still quest.

I still try

to be my best.