Like the hunted, I sprinted to the edge of the cliff
To be subdued by my demons with joyous relief,
While the wolves are clung to my heels, salivating
At the inkling that they will bury their fangs
Into my hollow struggle, surrounding me in the shadow,
Growling as they solicit my forfeit to their rules,
To their own ways, desperately trying to drag me backwards
Into what you were molding, the gallant tourist
Showing off the coruscant of what would be left behind,
Brewing the guilt of Macbeth, clouding my sight,
But there are thirteen reasons why I find the cliff
At this moment, standing below it all, a stampede
To let go, be far from the devil living beside me,
I’m ready for truth, past these gates, which I hold tight fisted,
Leaving its mark upon my arrival, reminding me
One last time, what I’ll abandon once I cross the threshold,
Back turned towards the lightning strikes, flashing
Against the stained rocks, nestled in the destination,
It’s been a long journey to this entrance, to my judgment,
Even with the pack growing inside the tall gates,
I am here, at the precipice swallowing the sight ahead,
Sinking into it and accepting fate of my own story
That is coming to its end, after all endured,
Peace has come unto me, while wolves lose the scent.
How many demons follow you up the hill?
Complications will always be apart of life;
Sickness, depression and hurt shadows your steps,
Find the peace in the experience of sight.
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