This Isn't About Me

My enthusiasm was curbed. There it waited unused, unwanted.  Brutalized and oxidized by the cruel urban air.  Windows smashed...Panic grips me in an uncomfortable embrace.  I rummage through my glove compartment with a panhandler's effciency to find desire missing as well.

Shit.

Who do I call?  Who would help me?  We all know 911 is  joke, my hope to regain what I lost, what I neglected buoys and will soon sink, and form the shattered dreams barrier reef.

Shit.

Calling friends.  Most of them are going through the same thing.  Trapped in mediocrity.  Our own personal Gitmos, made of clothed half walls, draped in memos & memories.  Nine to fives. Working so hard for so much but for so little at once.  Forgetting the sun even exists.   Sky high, but the elevator might as well let out at the 7th level of hell.  Who says hell is below?  I exist there at this moment... and fire and brimstone it is not.

The desperate man pages God urgent when he needs a quick hook-up.  Scratch my back, and I'll follow you for the rest of my living days.  Holy and acceptable.  Best believe I am in need, but I refuse to look towards the heavens.

Cloudy with a chance of blasphemy.

I can't shake my fist at an invisible (and possibly non-existing) deity.  This is my cross to bear (see what I did there.)  My Golgotha awaits to be conquered.  I will regain what I allowed to be taken. Arisen and prepared to fill my true lane in life.  Not to build a corporation's portfolio, but mine alone.

Fuck your couch.

Do animals know fear?  Does a young bird, even for a split second, think about death as it's mother pushes it from the nest?  As it plummets to earth will it's life flash before it's eyes?  Or does it just act?

Fly or die....sink or swim...which one shall I choose?

I'm ready.  I am replinished.  I am a phoenix unafraid of the fire.  Since when have you seen one scorch it's own wings?