The Shakes

When she gets a day off, she doesn't know what to do with it; angst com-Pounding 

In her gut...

And erupt, 

Until all Melts down- 

Cools again. 

Once the ego subsides, 

She notices her hands shaking, assuming it's from the 

Coffee and excedrin, 

Coffee and excedrin, 

Coffee and excedrin, 

That riddles her heart and mind. 

Headaches undo her, 

As if she has always been broken, 

Though we know I am not. 

Or I am. 

Or I am not...

But, when, if, and...

Life goes on, days go on...

And we find strength in each other 

If we can focus more on just that. 

I am not broken, 

Though I have been broken, 

Over, and over, 

As if to disassemble me, only to find the one, that lay underneath, 

A now rumbled location. 

Clearing, 

Clearing, 

Debris, with breeze, and motion, 

And life, and dance, 

And love, 

And 

  Letting go. 

Of everything we've thought to have known. 

My hands tremble and I watch them. 

Life has shown me a path, and I have taken it, 

Heeding now..

Whatever it is, that path should be. 

Fear. Love. 

Balance, like conservatism, like health. 

Martyrdom...rested some days. 

Somedays, the very vein of all I do become, and sometimes, 

Love takes over me. 

This is life. 

We sacrifice. 

And Hell, is this our Hell? We we ever be able to tell, 

What doth indeed, lie beyond; Propoganda-less. 

What of God? 

As simply, I look now at Billboards as if they are implanted programs. 

I stop. 

I see. 

The headaches come. 

I rest. 

Repeat. 

I adjust. 

And create defeat through love. 

Balance. 

Peace. 

Harmony. 

And not forgetting to take any of it too seriously...

Because already, 

There will be too many days, 

That simply, I will.