I’ll drink to that!

Self is such a fragile being, it breaks while it beats

Made of glass, shards grind to fine silver as he speaks

It heaves, sending shrapnel flying straight into the heart, it bleeds

Little by little, trickle by trickle, as the clock inches closer to eleven in the night,

The self realizes it is in too deep, a well of insecurity, it will drown and die tonight

Unacceptable.

So, it drowns itself – in loud music, in self preservation and in the hope of a better morning

A nonsense war with self where productivity and sleep are the only casualities,

is hardly the best way to spend a monday

But, the self is so fragile, it beats only when it breaks

It beats, breaks and bleeds as he speaks

So, we write what we cannot speak

We hide behind walls of poetry

Flimsy, but if someone suspects, we can always twist the words

Whats not to love?

So the self rebuilds, each letter breathing into it, one ounce of worth

The heart still bleeds as he speaks

But the self is at least well enough to smile and to drink to it.

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