sharp.

This path has never been friendly. I have a feeling that it doesn't even care about you in the end. Not one bit. The punishing climb and jagged rocks that serve as handholds and footholds seem to support this. 

We are ghosts still. Hungering to touch and be touched.

It will be another world once we start to bleed. with scenes familiar and strange; all beautiful at the same time. Would we choose to bleed. 

And we keep on climbing while we take the time to decide. Strange purgatorial anticipation.
Will ghosts die if they fall.

days go by.

it's been years, lifetimes, lives of standing still. a safe and a way to live, a way to go on and ignore everything else. even myself, in order to breathe, sleep, move, and walk. then the feeling came; familiar, warm, and reassuring. promises, warm embraces, and perhaps a right way to feel. 

It should begin here. Let my cup runneth over. Let the waves run me under. Let the rain wash over me. 

and still be scared shitless of the ghosts and ghouls of the past ten years lying in wait.