A Script Yet Written

The orange leaves say fall

Against the night

The nibbling chill and rain scream October.

My mind, blanketed by that scream,

Reflects.

I was broken 12 hours ago,

Hopelessly exhausted,

And exhaustedly hopeless.

But 12 hours ago,

Is no more,

I slept away 12 hours ago.

And the music woven in the darkness is profound.

My life, the one of the disabled child,

The one of the anorexic,

The one of the survivor and law student,

The one who uses her head to hold open heavy doors

When she needs more hands.

That girl(s) three-quarters blended together again

Gets lost in the sharp tiny spark

Sometimes and loses track of the fire.

At my best I try to live for the script yet written

when I am again mesmerized by the spark

I can step back to remember the fire,

Meant to burn away the circular words

And find the resolution.

Published by sickybeat

I am a writer with an extremely active imagination. I love learning answers to questions and what makes everything and everyone tick. I am a "Unique case, medically" if nothing else. I am flawed in my extreme aversion to failure (even when "success" isn't good for me,) but have come a long way in ditching the perfectionist mindset. I like people whose default setting toward others is compassion, an open mind, and honesty

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