(I don’t think I’ve written like this in a long time. Whatever door that opens is the one I walk through.  Day 186…)

For underground metaphors, you can scrape an inch below the turf, for what it’s worth.  My style’s been developed in the core of the Earth.  The inhale’s volcanic, the exhale is seismic..

I’m good.
No need to whisper in anyone’s ear
So good
People selfishly share the secret
Making them a hero
When they didn’t mean it
I appreciate the word of mouth
Words from my mouth
Exhaled through my pen
Ink shoots when provoked like a squid
I write as defensive mechanism
Bringer of the gospel
Healer
A man no more than a man that lets you know that you can carve moments of peace
Even when life is its most hostile

Living in the forever where perfect is across the Dead Sea
There are days I feel lifeless
Today isn’t one of them
For even when my quest leaves me near my last breath
These words will never let me sink

Swords
Daggers
Drug needles
Everyone claims they hold sharp objects that harm
I don’t consider myself dangerous
But potential can be deadly
My five fingers protect my freedom like The Pentagon

My blood is in vain
Addicted to the sight of it
So I open and reopen wounds
And show them to you
To let you know
Children of the Universe bleed too.