Timothy

ropes end

It is the vaguest tines of surety of purpose that make the
little things we tend to cherish so mendacious, secure in
the knowledge that one day, all of our struggles to climb
that steep incline of life. sweeter when the tasted
victories we attain slide down our parched dreams, that we
finally realize, that, in the end, nothing is ever certain.
Hardly the words of wisdom coming from someone who's most
rational moments come from the greatest of turmoil, the
adrenaline crush, that fervor of pulse pounding momentum.

decisions, questions. embarking on the journey and
expectation of an outcome with we, the royal we, as victor
takes a toll on the soul, so to speak. There's nothing so
noble than to throw oneself on a stake, in hopes we might
win the war waged with or without us, that inevitably drags
us down the mountain, and into the tumult, the chaotic
waters we tread on a daily basis.

in the end. I can rely on no one. except myself. and so, it
comes to me to jump over the edge and see what little
oblivion awaits. One can only hope I come out as unscathed
as the last time. fate demands sacrifice, even if it is
forced, my hand has been shown. there is no silver lining,
no golden chalice, and I am no knight in silvered armor. I
do what i must, faced with turmoil of unending and wasted
effort, I do what I've always done, the beast, the conniver,
the artiste must be fed. sated. the demanding slashes across
the landscape of my mind have marred what little nobility
I've left, shredded, I am unleashed.

such is the way of things.