Trying to focus,
guide my hand
to hit this target,
to reach out and
affect some change,
influencing
the chaos of the miasma,
become an ordered thing.
Playing games
with my own sanity.
I am,
stepping past my former frailty.
I am,
supported by a sort of frame.
I am,
surrounded by eternal flames.
I am,
no longer waiting for the high
to feel the rush,
as I touch the sky.
I have this
at my fingertips
and before my eyes.
I am
not going to lie,
I’m so surprised
that it works
just like they said it did.
I’m doing nothing new,
just placing my feet
one by one
on the path that I was meant
to walk down.
Trying to focus,
trying to aim.
My life is a rifle,
potential in things.
Thoughts are the action,
triggered by name.
Words are like bullets,
killing the same.
There’s got to be
some reason
we don’t see.
We’re plain as day,
suffocating
in the usual.
I can see it on your face.
I have felt it on my own,
until I held onto the fire
and made something
out of nothing.
Working magic takes a while.
