Version of Life

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It's hard to breath in this bed,

Lost, thinking about the happenings of the days,

Trying to make sense of it all,

Trying to make sense of where I fit.

For many a day I have contorted myself to fill this space,

Condensed what I could to make sure all of me fit,

My depths feel far too murky for us to travel as often as we do,

Perhaps I’m too well acquainted for my own good.

The fear is primal, the thoughts a highway,

They pass by me like I’m standing still,

I watch them come, and go, no longer willing to fight them,

No longer willing to argue with myself about the truth,

For what is the importance of truth if it's subjective?

A version of life for me, another version for yourself,

So many commonalities shared between,

Yet the truth is so elusive?

Yet the common ground is so eroded?

We share in the despair of reality,

Of the future we see taking form before us,

The twists, and turns forced into existence,

From our own shortcomings, and toxic natures.

We willingly lose ourselves to the circumstances,

Allow them to carry us away,

Our chariots pulled by our own regrets,

Our words sharpened into lances,

We come together; a clash.

The spirits adorn my shoulders,

Whispering their truths, and lies into my ear,

Running goosebumps down my neck,

Slumping these shoulders with the extra weight.