With a mind shattered like an exploding symphony and pen in hand I write when I can,
with heart a quiver, words slither under my skin like a sliver,
either writing, or fighting I see it all,
I am a dancer in darkness and light, from moonlight night to morning bright,
I struggle ever onward under the weight of my own soul, writhing eternally in the coffin of my form,
regardless whether or not I will recieve exaltation from this hell ship I am borne,
teeth grit, bones click, eyes narrow and the knuckles whitened,
and yet I ask myself, when I am my own monster, to what end then should I be frightened?