The Way Out.

Until now I’d lost all hope... but I’ve learned how to cope, at high velocities, all across lethally slippery slopes. Declines so steep they were fast lanes to past pains descending on the Self-Loathing Highway without a Runaway Truck Ramp. Cramped in the wreckage, I’d wallow amid the acid filled hallow of my own bitter banter. Ranter-Renegade raging on rally-cries of half-truth lies based on judgment, usually repugnant, ignorant of answers to questions I never asked. Gassed in overdose with a cocktail of my making, taking poisonous, boisterous badness and madness with a sadness chaser. A taser of torments and laments drafted and crafted-- crap, I’d shafted myself and couldn’t bloody see it from where I was sitting.

Shitting on my own parade with a serenade of anger twanged, consciously fanged, fighting words. Turds of Testament to why hope was lost (the cost too high to pay) until the day I saw a way out. Doubt be damned, I slammed on the brake for sanity’s sake, anchoring stakes in the ground of the open-minded-but-logically-sound. Pound-for-pound tearing up asphalt of default thoughts, plots and ponderings responsible for my deadly wanderings, willing myself to veer nearer to the edge.

With a pledge of personal promise I let the torture-train derail so I could bail and watch it sail into the pit of insignificant. An indifferent depth dug down around the pedestals of persecution, retribution and emotional pollution. Mental destitution I didn’t need, just seeds to depression and more aggression gouging negative impressions into my faith. Wraith to intrinsic good that should matter more than it usually does.

Clinging to what was or could have been never help either, so I knew what I blew for far too long. Wrong only because it took forever, to get it together, to power forward toward future possibilities. Hostilities halted or dismissed as wastes of time, less I rewind and deescalate my evolution of resolutions compiled by more positive principals. Miracles in-of-themselves when facing a self-conscripted Seven Hells Tour made more for misery than mending; sending signals for repair instead of despair because I’m now prepared.

Not scared to face the unknown simply due to what history has shown, but to wage my own path in the aftermath of previous reservations. Foundations no longer stacked on the lack of consideration, rather some reiteration for reflections on old roads of evolution, to define my personal absolution. An inclusive contribution to the convolution of a dissolution in prior ways of thinking. No more winking wrongs and radical rights, not as long as I'm able to fight.

Bite the plight.

Bright in sight.

Day and night.

Be the light.

| another_proser |