Keep holding the line.

If you break,

there is no recovery.

Feel what you need to feel;








but hold the fucking line.


Never let it go.

Everything depends on you.

If you still stand

and are still in the fight,

even after the beatings,

the feeling

of being


the needle,

the bottle,

the noose

and the bottomless pit

of welcoming despair;

if all that has not claimed you,

hold the line.


It’s not for you anymore.

Your fight is fought.

Your day is done.

You’ve cast your lot

and the dice have been found wanting.

It’s not up to you,

it’s up to them.

All you can do

is be present

and selfless

and carry the burden

and be strong

and be there,

not self righteous,

not abandoned,

but as whole

and unbroken

as you can pretend to be,

because you have to hold the goddamned line

for them.


There is no one else.

Just you

and all your problems

and failures

and addictions

and fuck-ups.

Memories that torment

and future uncertain.


and disaster,

a headcase,


the introvert,

who can’t even live with himself,

has got to hold the line

for someone else.


Maybe this is that mocking fate,

God’s irreverent sense of humor.

Some kind of cosmic joke

to take the least qualified

and put him on the line.

To take the least inclined

and make him a cornerstone,

or maybe,

just give him the chance

to do what’s right,

for once in this life.


It doesn’t matter.

It’s not about that anymore.

The consequence is greater

than one maladjusted narcissist

and his life of petty destructions.

As long as the hands can grip

and  the arms can lift

and the legs bear you up

and the mind is strong

and you can make the choice

you should have made long ago,

be there,


let them find you

holding the line.



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