Dogmatic

I want to write, to stand upon a podium and to justify my wounded thoughts.

I want to tell you what you mean to me, you’re the one behind the vial of my bride. 

Yet I stand in the doorway holding the ladder by my side trying to get through.

My baggage overweighs my body and I can rarely ever rest my arms.

My future is a snowball, shaken up from time to time.

Spiraling into the lost cautious mind I stutter continuously.

Cant we live as one and both exist, I say dear diary before I can vent and I click the tip of my pen whenever I have said all I need to say.

I browse into my imagination for the bullet that’s caressing my lungs, holding my breath from me. 

What am I to think of the disgruntle ghost that haunts me, is it righteous, a gift or it a constant reminder of what I need?

Shred my bravery and demolish my will, hide my ambition  and break my skills but stay beside me for I can’t be still.