Go ahead,

rain on my parade.

Piss all over it;

see if that stops me.

If your knife in the back words

and your piano wire garrotte eyes

haven’t cut me down yet;

you’re going to have to try harder,

because I’m going to try harder.

Every littered failure I have left in my wake

is cause for retribution.

The carcass of every time I have been defeated,

becomes a ladder rung

as I go over the wall.

Some part of me

always knew the right way,

but I think that it takes

that razor blade moment

to let us know what is really on the line

before we rise

or fall

one final time.

I’ll keep fighting.

I’ll keep loving.

I’ll keep creating.

I’ll keep trying.

As long as there is breath in my body.

I will not give up.



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