sarcaustic

self dependence leaves me worn out. sick of playing God. sanity serrated by the politics in my head. paranoia feeds the need to cover all my tracks. i hold my fears and dreams in my hands. i hold on to my pain and joy. i bear my guilt on a blistered back. hands grip barbed wire traps. squeezing too tightly i suffocate hope and pain colors my hands red. fear sinks into my spine and assumes identity. i could have dropped my guilt and swam but instead i sank with it to the bottom of this dark lake. you're right there. so why am i still reaching for this wheel with mutilated hands?