A Stainless Steel Knife & The Importance of The Cerebellum: Stanza 7-9

STANZA VII

In this field of gray that i know reside in

Im still adjusting to the climate

Slightly pleasant

I hesitate to embrace enjoyment

Every muscle tensed

In anticipation

For the next set of hardships

My joyless masochistic subconscious hounds me

Even in my attempts to rest

A tsunami of paralysis fueled by anxiety attempts to take my breath

Perhaps i stare into the mirror with too critical of an eye

The criminal

Eternally perceived

As I

The freeing crop of perspective

Devoured by the locusts

Of my excessive internal locus

So i continue to consume negations

Perpetually in denial

Baptized in its reality defining waters

My first post baptismal inhale

The sweet air of self hatred

Caustic criticisms fementing in my soul to become a poisonous ale

And I’ll drink it every night

STANZA VIII

But now i know

I have to fight

With no sense of direction

Those self destructive habits must be left

So i can see what’s right

I NEED to perceive the light

Ive been shackled far too long in this dark cave

Finding my true identity has been a maze

The light may be blinding

And my new understandings may leave me in a daze

However when i adjust as i always do

And i can finally gaze

And Meet the real me

That will be

My greatest victory

Yes I attempted to smell the roses

But my hands

Were attacked by

A particularly prickly thorn

It cut my hand open

And paused my tour

STANZA VIIII

Now I realized how much

I missed

Those wonderful contours

The thorn must’ve been

Laced with regret and pain

The clarity i was enjoying

Gave way

To blurry visions

A promising whisper i heard

Maybe id hear the words

The ones that would put my heart at rest

The keys to unlocking my shackled treasure chest

Of love that id love to give

But a hallucination it proved to be

An unsurprising revelation

The resulting disappointment

Decreasing my elevation

Fleeting temptations

The urges that emerge

At the bottom of the emotional pit

Willing to do anything

But admit

That they

hold

A certain grip

A power they don’t deserve

A limit to the ways

That i can exist