Separate from the shit at hand, know this:
There is no great escape at the end of your tunnel,
no immortal exit awaiting at the end of the journey.
There are sequential actions that come back around,
neither immediate nor temporary, they will creep,
they will bide their time until the moment calls,
when their dormancy ends and they activate,
and they will strike you in bright daylight,
and cut you open as mercilessly as you have done to others,
I cycle through what I cannot see,
left to piece together a puzzle that will not click,
it will not snap into place,
as life does not compartmentalize so easily,
and I am left broken.
Defeated by more than my worst enemy,
played for dead by a ghost I cannot see,
a grim reaper who has taken everything from me.
Yet, there are ways to come out from downstairs,
so many ways that I’m privvy to and you are not.
You will be marked.