I want a scar and not just any scar, but one I can romanticize about. Deep, shredded epidermis grown back over itself in a gnarled mass, thick and putrid begging for the story of it's origin to be told. A battle trophy on display, a warning to others that if they try, I will not go down easy.
Something I got from an incredible accident or a knife fight or defending myself from a Great White. A story that Hemingway would get drunk off his ass and tell down at the local tavern to the enthralled bar flys that loved to hear the old man spin a yarn or two over bitter ale.
Each day, without that magnificent scar, is a slow death that drags me down deeper into the abyss. Power is not mine for the taking, it mine for the wanting, the desperate need to feel and it is the lack there of that binds me to this plain of existence.
Tired, so tired, I want to sleep once and for all, but I can't let go. Two words are etched into my brain "what if?" What if indeed. That is a question for the ages. What if? Indeed, what if?
Something I got from an incredible accident or a knife fight or defending myself from a Great White. A story that Hemingway would get drunk off his ass and tell down at the local tavern to the enthralled bar flys that loved to hear the old man spin a yarn or two over bitter ale.
Each day, without that magnificent scar, is a slow death that drags me down deeper into the abyss. Power is not mine for the taking, it mine for the wanting, the desperate need to feel and it is the lack there of that binds me to this plain of existence.
Tired, so tired, I want to sleep once and for all, but I can't let go. Two words are etched into my brain "what if?" What if indeed. That is a question for the ages. What if? Indeed, what if?