The knife slammed down, sending a spray of blood onto the maids apron. She cursed under her breath, cleaning its edge with her rag.

“ASH!” The shrill voice made her flinch, and she hastened her pace, bringing the knife down again and again with a practiced hand. “AAASH! Where is the chicken? I needed it FIVE MINUTES AGO!”

“Sorry Ana! I’m coming,” Ash called back, hoisting the bloody poultry into her arms as she made her way to the stove.

“You weren’t daydreaming again, were you?” Ana chided, mincing onions for the soup.

“It’s not daydreaming. It’s training,” Ash whispered, but she ensured that nobody heard her. “Of course not!” she said, louder.

“Good. You know how much Dri hates it when you space out.” Ash flinched involuntarily, her fingers brushing the scar that ran from her eyelid to her chin. Last year, when she was lost in her head, Dri had taken a fire poker and run it down her face to “teach her a lesson.” As irritating as Ana could be sometimes, Dri invoked genuine fear in Ash. It was just the three of them, girls barely out of their teenage years, kitchen maids for the palace staff. And, though Ash disliked her company, they were the only family she had ever known. Ana and Dri were sisters and held their place in the palace because their father was the head chef. Ash was just a girl of the streets who had happened to be at the right place at the right time when the chef was looking for some extra help in the kitchens. As grateful as she was to have a roof over her head, Ash couldn’t help but hope she was destined for more.

The tap-tap-click of footsteps that haunted Ash’s nightmares echoed down the narrow staircase leading to the kitchens, and Ash stirred the stock pot with renewed vigor.

“Darling sisters! Dinner is going well, I presume?” Dri flounced into the room, her shoulders wrapped in a scarf that looked oddly familiar to Ash.

“Is that…” she started, but was cut off by a venomous look from Dri.

“Ugh. You’re too nosy… but if you must know, this is the queen’s finest scarf for parties!” Ash groaned inwardly, knowing all too well how Dri’s knack for stirring up chaos would be blamed on her if the scarf wasn’t returned soon. Ana piped up from beside her, a fragile voice wavering in the dusty air.

“B-but, the kingdom isn’t having any parties for at least another month”

“Oh, sweet sister, that’s only what the nobility wants you to think!” Dri’s impish sneer deepened, her eyes glittering with a cold malice. “As I’m sure you know, the darling prince is of age to be married.” Ava froze, hope written plainly across her face. Dri continued, sounding as haughty as ever. “Tomorrow night the palace will host a lavish party in hopes of finding the prince a worthy suitor. Surely the queen will not notice a few lovely kitchen girls amidst the swirling gowns and festivities!” Ava was practically bouncing up and down now, her eyes shining like those of a child.

“This is it, Dri! All we have to do is show the prince how worthy we are of the throne, and we will never have to work again,” Ava giggled, twirling in a circle. The two of them were breathless with excitement, filled with hope at the thought of escaping their own pitiful lives, but Ash was silent. “What’s up with you, Ash? This is the best news of our entire lives!” Ava squealed, grinning. Ash bit her lip, struggling to meet Ava’s hopeful eyes.

“Ava, this is great. It really is. I’m happy for you… but do you really think the prince would choose a kitchen girl over nobility? They have been trained their entire lives to rule a kingdom. It’s not that I think you wouldn’t be a good ruler, I’m sure you would be amazing, but he is not going to choose you.” Ash choked out the words, hating the way Ava’s face crumpled with each invisible blow. She disliked uttering such things, but tried to convince herself that it was for the best. Ava would be devastated when her dreams of being a princess didn’t work out. At least now she wouldn’t be surprised.

“Don’t listen to her, Ava,” Dri spit, venom lacing her tone. Dri grabbed her sister roughly by the arm, yanking her towards the laundry room. “We are going to the ball. Now, lets get dresses.” Ava looked back towards Ash one last time, eyes brimming with tears, an expression of utter betrayal on her face. And then, she was gone, into the depths of the castle. Ash felt her eyes begin to water, but blinked quickly before tears could fall. She was stronger than her tears. She pawned the soup off onto another maid, and slipped out of the kitchen door, disappearing into the night air. Ava may not understand, and Dri may not want to, but she had no desire to become a princess. She was not qualified for the position, nor did she wish to be. Her passions lay… elsewhere.

The whine of metal scraping along metal echoed from the courtyard far before Ash turned the corner. The sound itself was unpleasant, but its cause left currents for excitement racing down her spine. Just before she rounded the corner Ash pulled her helmets vizor over her face, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The other soldiers nodded to her, well accustomed to her late night visits.

When Ash had first come to the palace she would slip out the back door often, anxious for some time to herself. It wasn’t long before she stumbled upon the King’s Guard training, and was instantly captivated. She would watch them train for hours from behind the hedges that surrounded the courtyard, mimicking their swift movements with her clumsy arms. It wasn’t long before they found her, but the fierce knights she was so fearful of had no need to punish a curious child. She became a kind of pet project for them, a few tips here, a sparring match there. In five years her nightly visits had left thick calluses on her once soft fingers and her mind filled with swordplay. She would never be that sweet, innocent little girl again, and perhaps that was for the better.

Ash staggered her feet in a familiar stance as she drew her blade from the sheath at her hip, filling her lungs with the smoky night air before releasing her breath quickly, lunging forwards at her opponent and twisting back, her dance lit only by moonlight. A minute passed, maybe two, but before long the blade of her sword kissed the soft skin of his neck, pressing firmly against his windpipe.

“Say it,” Ash whispered, her voice deadly. “Say. It.”

“Fiiiine,” the man across from her whined pathetically. “Uncle.”

“Yes! Take that,” Ash grinned, sheathing her sword.

“Aww. You’re no fun anymore,” the knight complained good naturedly, climbing to his feet. “So, when are you going to join the guard? We all know you’re qualified.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Ash muttered. “You can only join the guard if the commander approves it, and that will never happen.

“Ah. Daddy dearest dosen’t want his illegitimate daughter to become a coworker?” The knight questioned, nodding towards the gaurd’s bunkhouse. That’s gotta stink. Well, I best be going. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Ash grumbled, wrapping her hands in cloth padding before walking to a training dummy. She began warming up, letting her fists slam against the leather casing of the bag.

She was so intent upon the movements that she almost missed the feather light sound of unfamiliar footsteps on the courtyard behind her. Almost. She pivoted, drawing her sword as she took in the figure standing behind her, black robes rendering them almost invisible in the darkness. She hesitated, willing him to speak, but all was silent. Then, his blade was snaking through the air, glinting in the moonlight as it was thrust towards her chest. Ash blocked it inches before it met her flesh, aghast at the nerve of this new stranger.

He parried her blows effortlessly, writhing in the darkness like mist. Impossible to capture. Ash stumbled backwards, drawing air into her lungs. This was no longer a playful spar. She would die here, in this courtyard, if her guard slipped for even a moment. Her attacks became quicker, the blade coming alive in her hands. She couldn’t help but feel like her entire life had come down to this moment. They circled one another around the courtyard, hunters poised to strike. Then, she saw her moment. For a fraction of a second he glanced backwards, sizing up the courtyard, and she was upon him, knocking his sword aside with the very motion she had done hundreds of times previously. It clattered against the marble, the sound carrying a note of finality.

“Mask. Off,” she hissed between labored breaths, holding the tip of her sword to his chin. He slowly lifted the black fabric, hands shaking, though he was trying hard to hide it. He cast the material aside, and it was as if time itself had frozen. Ash’s mind raced, trying desperately to comprehend the man in front of her. She sank to one knee, forehead resting against the cool cobblestones. “My prince. I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing all too well that her life was now in his hands. To raise a hand against the next ruler of the kingdom, let alone a sword, was a crime punishable by death. How could she have ever made a mistake this grand?

“Don’t apologize. After all, my identity was unbeknownst to you. Please, rise,” he said softly, retrieving his mask from the floor. “Anyone capable of beating me in a duel undoubtedly is worthy of a place on the royal guard.”

“I’m honored, sir. Truly. But my father… “ Ash started, lapsing into silence when her fathers cruel face flashed across her mind.

“Ahh, yes. I overheard your conversation with the knight earlier. I cannot promise you a fairy tale ending, as such things are creatures of fantasy, but I can assure you this much. In spite of everything, you have no need of my protection. The world is a frightening place, but the fire in your eyes is just as terrifying. It is the look of someone who will burn anything in her way on the road to success. Welcome to the Royal Guard, but know that your story doesn’t end here. Darling, this is only the beginning.

‘Trust me, I’ve tried to change. I’ve definitely tried to stop being such a coward and just look in the mirror. But I swear on my life, I really can’t. Call me a coward for being scared of death, go ahead. I don’t want to die, especially not in the way she would kill me. I-’ I stop writing as soon as I feel a hand on my shoulder. A cold chill rushes through me from my head to my toes. I hate being touched. I look up at my teacher, whose face wears a look of exhaustion and pure annoyance.

“Clarity, what are you writing about?” my teacher, Ms. King, asks in a tired voice. My heart beats quickly and I still feel the weight of her hand on my shoulder. I want it off. I look up at her, but don’t make eye contact. I can’t.

“You told us to write about our worst fear, and that’s what I’m doing,” I say to her in a quiet voice. She just sighs.

“Clarity,” she says, “haven’t we talked about this? You can’t keep writing about imaginary things, you need to face reality.”

I glare at my notebook containing the writings of my worst fear. No one understands. Face reality? This is reality! Her hand was still resting on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Get your hand off of me.” I feel her lean down as she asks, “What did you just say?”

Without even thinking, I grab her wrist and push it off, all while shouting, “Get off!” The whole classroom turns to look at me, and I look up at Ms. oh King, who looks shocked. Once again, without thinking and without any hesitation, I close my notebook and shove it into my bag. I get up as quickly as I can and rush out the door with no intentions of returning. I walk the empty halls of my highschool, noticing every crack in the tile as I walk, refusing to look up at the glass case of awards on the left side of the hall. I’ve already made that mistake several times.

I approach the door, but I don’t look up as I push it open. Then, finally, I’m outside. I finally look up and admire at the world around me. Just outside of my horrid high school, a beautiful oak tree stands tall and firm, surrounded by luscious green grass. Birds fly by, puffy white clouds fill the sky, and the sun shines bright in the sky just as it always does. Just as it always will. I love the outside world much better than the inside, so bright and positive. With a deep breath in and out, I begin the walk towards home since I refuse to drive a car. I’m not going back to that unforgiving, disapproving 10th grade language arts classroom.

The wind blows through my hair as I walk. I haven’t cut it since 4th grade, and I’m not exactly sure what it looks like right now. It might be smooth, it might be ratted, all I know is it’s down, brown in color, and free. That’s how it has been for quite a while.

I know that all of this sounds insane and confusing. Believe me, I feel the same way. This will sound absolutely crazy, but I don’t know what I look like. I have a general idea of what my appearance is, but I have no idea what I look like right now as a teenager. My eyes are gray, my cheekbones are higher than normal, my top lip is smaller than my bottom lip, and obviously my hair is long and brown. At least this is what everyone tells me.

I haven’t seen my reflection since 4th grade. Yes, I’ve accidentally looked in the mirror several times throughout my life, and I have glimpsed at windows and glass cases, but I’ve never seen myself. Not since I was 9.

After a few minutes of walking, I finally approach my house, my eyes still down like always. As I walk up the steps to my door, I still don’t look up. My hand searches for the doorknob and I quickly shut my eyes to avoid looking at the reflection in the knob. Once I enter my home, I look up and breathe a sigh of relief. At last, I think to myself, Safety. I hear footsteps from down the hallway, and my mom walks to where I am. Thankfully she’s far away enough that I can look into her eyes.

“Clarity, what are you doing here? Don’t you have another hour of school?” she asks in a soft spoken voice, just like mine.

Obviously I lie to her. There’s no way I could tell her that I pushed my teacher’s hand away and shouted and left the building in such a rush. “I wasn’t feeling so great, Mom, so they let me go home. I told them you were waiting outside to pick me up, and I just walked home.” She seems to buy it. She usually does. I smile gently at her and walk to my room, doing everything I can to keep my eyes down.

Oh yes, the dreaded hallway. On the left side of the hallway, there is a fancy white-framed mirror that originally belonged to my grandmother. When she died back when I was 7, the mirror automatically went to us. I used to love looking at my reflection in that mirror, and it always seemed like that mirror had some sort of magic that made you appear even more beautiful..

Right as I am about to pass the mirror, I stop. I’m not sure why I stop, I just do. My gaze slowly lifts up from off the ground, and I wonder maybe, just maybe, she won’t be there when I look in the mirror. Maybe my pain and suffering is over. I take a deep breath and quickly turn my head towards the mirror.

Amber eyes that appear to be lit with fire stare back at me. My heart appears to stop the second I lock eyes with it. The woman in the mirror is not me. Her face is charred, black as coals, and her hair is disgustingly frayed. Worst of all, her glowing eyes press me and burn me, destroying all the courage I’ve ever had and causing every bit of my sanity to go up in flames. They just look at me accusingly. Look at what you’ve done! The eyes scream at me, and I can feel the flames consuming me. I hear the voice in my head, occupying every thought and banishing every memory. You will pay for this. My death will not be forgotten! Somehow, I find the strength to pull away from her. I see a huge flash of light and my whole body goes numb. My eyes sting and tears fall down my face.

I never meant to start that fire. I thought that the match had burned out when I was playing in her house. Because I was only 9, I didn’t have to face any criminal charges, and it was a total accident after all. But she won’t leave me alone. She has been with me, replacing my reflection ever since the fire. Ever since I unknowingly burned down the house. She wants me to feel the fire, too.

This is what no one, not even my own family, has ever been able to understand. The doctors all say that it's all in my head, some sort of horrible mental condition. Since the incident in 4th grade, everyone thinks I’ve just gone insane.

But I swear on my life, I haven’t.

Can I walk a line, straight and narrow

Will I fly the coupe on the morrow

Will the me I wanna be kill the one

Making all the calls and put a stop

To the wasted time I spend

Restless, reckless with my own skin

Ignore the burns and the scars to a fault

I know it could be what does me in

So I make a wish on a star

Call a friend and insist that I repent

Will you be the one, I'm looking around

Though we started out as many

The thick has thinned and narrowed down

Will you follow me, If I set the pace

This ain't about speed it's lifes race

Who can pump the brakes get lost

in the moments along the way

I just need a hand, a guide a wise word

or two, a calming soul, some one whole

Who doesn't mind the wear for the worse

or the cold way I push away from all those

That wanna hold me close, I just break

Bend as much as I can before emotions

crash and make waves

Like I'm moments from drowning in an ocean

So I make a wish on a star

Call a friend and insist that I repent

Will you be the one, I'm looking around

Though we started out as many

The thick has thinned and narrowed down

Will you follow me, If I set the pace

This ain't about speed it's lifes race

Who can pump the brakes get lost

in the moments along the way

Call me for a good time, I've got the best

drugs, If you fall for my disguise I apologize

I'm not good at love, Call me for a good time

I've got the best drugs, If you fall for me

Than you'll see, I'm not good at love

So I make a wish on a star

Call a friend and insist that I repent

Will you be the one, I'm looking around

Though we started out as many

The thick has thinned and narrowed down

Will you follow me, If I set the pace

This ain't about speed it's lifes race

Who can pump the brakes get lost

in the moments along the way

Because I had been beaten up in an alley

and my wallet taken and blood was

pouring from my lip and my eye

swelling shut; because I had not,

actually, fought back this time,

and also because I was still,

even after this pugilism,

pretty damned drunk

(most especially because of this),

I couldn’t remember where I lived,

or even what part of town.

So, I could not have hailed a cab

while bleeding down my bare chest,

where bruises were now blooming

like Chernobyl roses, and with any

sort of coherence tell the driver where

to take me (if I had even tried to speak, I’m

sure the words would have been so slurred

that I could have closed my eyes and let them

carry me away like a river dying in a sea;

in fact, I was so near the Los Angeles River, it turned

out, I could have staggered there and fallen into

its concrete channel. I never learned, or bothered

to find out, rather, in my time in that city,

where the River goes, it was always an ankle-deep

trench at the bottom of a cement-covered ditch,

swelling with the rain to a torrent that would

carry away a froth of trash and dead rats;

during the hot summer, kids would race bikes

there, and many times I sat on one of the still-hot

concrete plates and watched the sun go down and

wonder what dear god was I going to do that night

if I couldn’t find any blow or pussy)

or been let on any city bus by any sane employee

of the regional transit authority, let alone figure out

which route to take, the entirety of Los Angeles,

and most especially when you are drunk, high,

and newly beat, is like a spiderweb and you are the fly.

So I lurched from the alley and zigzagged on the sidewalk

passing, for some reason, off to the side and not in the

midst of the flow of traffic on the sidewalk, a whole onion,

just resting at the lip of the curb, its papery skin peeling

to reveal the white orb, shining to my gimlet eye in the night

like some fallen jewel from heaven’s crown, and I did not stop

and examine the onion, although later as I crouched

next to a dumpster and tried to sleep, it was the

only damn thing I could remember about that night,

not the face of the man who had beaten me,

not even where I had stumbled here from,

and certainly not how the sticky wetness in the crotch

of my jeans had gotten there when I opened them

to piss against the wall of, what the sign on the

receiving department door informed me, was

Schultz Brothers Leather. I must have, miracle of

miracles,

dozed off, because when my eyes opened, it was

still dark but I could make out the shape of

another young man, not me, standing and looking

down at where I had fallen asleep, wedged between

the dumpster and the brick wall (my first and only

night on the streets, all praise to the maker

who never misses the fall of a single sparrow)

and I even saw him draw back his high-topped sneaker

and even had time to pull my knees close and

ball myself up so his foot would not obliterate

my balls when he kicked me, just my kidneys and ribs,

but it was late and he was as far gone as I was, and the

kick, when it came, glanced off the dumpster and barely

hit me at all, and by that time adrenaline had me on

my own feet, crouched and swaying, ready to attack him

and he said, in a voice thick with what I recognized

as hopeless despair, give me everything you have.

And I reached out, because I knew the voice with which

he spoke, it was my voice too, and I rested my hands on

his shoulders and said, Nothing, I have nothing, I would give

it to you if I had it, but I have nothing.

And he looked at my dried-blood face and dried-blood

chest and black eye and crooked nose and all he did was nod

and believe that I would have, and I would have surely

lord I would have because I was, in that moment, and in many

of the moments that had preceded and would follow that night,

alive and aware and exultant in my place in the human

fabric, the brotherhood of man, even as I had taken the

first blow in the alley - the memory came back to me

as the young man slumped against me - even then my thought

had not been pain at the strike of the fist,

but pain that the fist had been thrown,

and that brother should fight brother

and slowly disassemble that silly and hopeful

edifice we fool ourselves into believing is real

and call a society

What's the point when I've seen down

The road and around the bend

That's why I burn joints for my burdens

That's why I stay stoned and roll with it

Keeps my demons out while hope rolls in

Breathe out; breathe in and keep going

Known for bouncing back from falling

Keep my feet or keep crawling

Forward momentum is the king

Sword in hand or pen to pad

Leave my mark or scars or trash

It's my choice but I hear me laugh

Like I know I'll let fear take my hand

Is it a phase or who I am?

Bend or break with every branch

Family tree is twisted round and back

Narrow alleys where the night is black

Back is breaking please take my hand

Heard there's strength in numbers

Do the math, I need you but pride demands

I hide behind these mask

I dance, I groove, I laugh

But I am weak from my blunders

Going under feel torn asunder

Pirate in me screams 'Go for plunder'

Beg peace to see me through the thunder

I let love go its own way one summer

Been lonely since but for my mother

Would have drifted off in a whiskey bottle

Thank God for second chances and fast throttles

Been burning bridges since a young one

Now more lost than before I started

Compass reads just follow scars

Or tattooed reminders of who you are

Give more than you take but that is hard

When the more you get the more you starve

I just wanna play my part

With no script or strings attached

Have my cake and eat my half

Cause my familia splits all I have

Feel like half a man even as I stand

Stutter through apologies but tounge is wicked fast

With insults hurled or mean back hands

That's just my castle walls fighting back

Locked myself away from all the land

Sword in hand or pen to pad

Leave my mark or scars or trash

It's my choice but I hear me laugh

Like I know I'll let fear take my hand

Is it a phase or who I am?

Bend or break with every branch

Family tree is twisted round and back

Narrow alleys where the night is black

Rooted deep between grandmas grave

And all the things she taught me about my Faith

My Faith is running thin but it doesn't take

A mountain just a seed, a breathe, a step

A memory that gets me to the next

We are all temporary facing down our death

Sword in hand or pen to pad

Leave my mark or scars or trash

It's my choice but I hear me laugh

Like I know I'll let fear take my hand

Is it a phase or who I am?

Bend or break with every branch

Family tree is twisted round and back

Narrow alleys where the night is black

I'm gonna face my fears

Run my demons like steer

Laso em and tie them off

I'm gunning down empty bottles

Heavy boot, feather throttle

Let it off now smoking tires

Bridge burning days retired

Guess I tired of lonely travels

Heart of stones must unravel

That's the rivers blessing, curse

That's the pain between the verse

All roads lead us to the hearse

Don't matter if it's gravel, dirt or dust

We all have a path ahead of us

It's all or bust feel it in my gut

We won't make it out with unharmed

Hearts, that's okay cause I heard

Love is a balm for all kinda scars

Factory smoke choking hope

Tractors covered in tarps and dust

Pa says this year is all or bust

Ma says Faith means in God we trust

Light pollution kills night delusions

Wishing on shooting stars

Throwing ropes for the moon

Stowing pain in my bones

Threatens to undo me soon

But I stay glued, I cowboy up

What else to do? Bottoms up

Here's to the ride, before the fight

For the folks no longer by our side

Don't matter if it's gravel, dirt or dust

We all have a path ahead of us

It's all or bust feel it in my gut

We won't make it out with unharmed

Hearts, that's okay cause I heard

Love is a balm for all kinda scars

When I go, hope I go blazing

That's the rock n' roll in my stars

Flippant thumbing of my pages

These days I go slow, ease and grace

Lightening in my whiskey

Thunder in my engine

Love the way that reckless taste

At least in the beginning

These days it's pump the brakes

Cut back on the sinnen

Don't matter if it's gravel, dirt or dust

We all have a path ahead of us

It's all or bust feel it in my gut

We won't make it out with unharmed

Hearts, that's okay cause I heard

Love is a balm for all kinda scars

That's all TW stands for / I could have spelled it out but I like things short and sweet. I imagine writing like pounding out text and then hammering it down through editing until it resembles something useful.

"TW" also sounds close to "DW", which was the nickname for my favorite after-school cartoon hero Darkwing Duck. So there's that.

Depends on who you ask if I'm a bridge or the wind

Tend to break my own heart against those I let in

Please excuse the mess, glass shards that dig in

Regrets that replay, like yesterday was right now

If you make me a temple, fear is my paint

Why build a house that I'll rage and burn down?

Why trust a sinner then deny a saint?

Cause the further I venture, I won't go away

Need the company of kin to the crazy insane

Chatter away the voices that infect my brain

Charter a plane or I'll jump on a train

Either way on the move for the truth in my lane

Shark in my veins, wake and bake the teeth from my bite

Maintain and stay high, seem like an addict, I'm numbing my mind

Else my demons will creep till my teeth gnash and I weep

You won't hear a peep, stuff it down deep till it has its own gravity

Pulling at the edges of my sanity

Laughing like gallows humour will really save me

She left me for dead; heart on my sleeve

Too long in the sun and now rotting meat

But I won't miss a beat, stay on my feet

Rather die on my own two than live on my knees

Tomorrow will come or I'll get lost in between

Stuck to the pages, I'm thick drying ink

Question is who pens my story? Is it possibly me?

Soon as I get the courage doubt cuts me in three

This is my plea, there is no saving me

Running out of options is transforming me

Twist up my neurons and kill dopamine

That's why I smoke weed, THC in me till I rest in peace

Is that my legacy? Medicate the day away or go insane?

To be honest it's too late for my crazy to be contained

Fighting three dragons to just start out my day

Rather stay between cartoon sheets than face hurricanes

Or a blaze from my rage that I can never explain

Depends on who you ask if I'm broken or OK

Tend to pull at my loose threads till I'm drifting away

Excuse the mess I make and burning bridges in my wake

Too much take to my give, push and pulled to my grave

Depends on who you ask if I'm a bridge or the wind

Tend to break my own heart against those I let in

Please excuse the mess, glass shards that dig in

Frayed around the edges and a little broken in

Wish I could be your hero but I'm barely hanging in

If I don't watch myself, I tend to write in parentheses (a lot)

Never understood why, if I'm already talking to a reader surely making an aside doesn't matter that much? (or maybe at all)

Maybe I'm not good at explaining myself in a sentence, only in a fragment safely bound inside a bubble of grammatical insert

(or maybe I just like whispering contradictions in my mind while I write)

If I don't watch myself, I'll insert the word "just" everywhere

Just now, just then, just here and there.

As if I'm trying to control the emotion in my words - lessen them, somehow, just a bit.

It's not necessary, or horrible, just a tad annoying and repetitive

And it just takes a few minutes of proofreading or Wordsearching to eliminate the extra baggage and just let my words flow

If I don't watch myself, I'll dash about my paragraphs - zooming, inserting, cutting - to cram as much in as possible before I end a sentence.

Or to emphasize what's important - like the end of the sentence itself.

I can't sit still and let the words flow at their own place - I have to make them move faster.

Because maybe I'm afraid you won't bother to read all the way through - you know, since it's so boring to read blocks of texts nowadays - so I'm trying to direct your eyes faster through the Tetris maze of my verbal vomit.

I guess the moral of this story is - I just have to watch myself (always).

I’ve got a shoulder, a holster

An arrow a cherub could shoot in your heart

Now that I’m older and bolder all I’ve got left are scars

I was blue searching for clues in these shooting stars

Now I’m seeing red; I’m raging at my seams, a start

To the end, if I could learn to bend; go back to the start

What would I change but the way I tend to fall apart

Maybe I should forgive all my enemies

Cash in my chips let the wind set me free

Bash my head against the wall til my heart learns how to bleed

Guess I’ve always been a stone, let me roll, let me roll

I know it ends terribly

It takes a different me to get through tomorrows pain

Today’s celebration another's wine stain

I’ll take the flames I’m built for it I’ll take the blame

Don’t miss me spread my ashes where my head would lay

That mythical place we all chase like rope, last thread dangling

That leads us home

I never escape just relocate, persistent stones feel my pain

Maybe I should forgive all my enemies

Cash in my chips let the wind set me free

Bash my head against the wall til my heart learns how to bleed

Guess I’ve always been a stone, let me roll, let me roll

I know it ends terribly

Push me to the edge still feeling pretty blessed

Cause all my friends might as well be next of kin

And all my kin will kill and die or ride when it hits the fan

Saddest truth I know is death will make you more the man

Than I could ever be

Maybe I should forgive all my enemies

Cash in my chips let the wind set me free

Bash my head against the wall til my heart learns how to bleed

Guess I’ve always been a stone, let me roll, let me roll

I know it ends terribly