Todays little mumble

This Violence, the Nightmare, this indescision of my soul that clings to the branches of a dead tree in hope that when the branches snap that the tears pooled up in my outstreached hand will soak into the wood and make it new,
making it strong enough to hold onto.

Even when the wind blows, when the rain rips into my shirt draw tight over my bruised back and small cold stings of love push me on.
Will I let go, no, will I ask for help, no.

Nothing needed, nothing gained.

These precious moments etched into my mind with the edge of reason, so sharp in its design that it cut through my truth and left me hanging on to hope.

And when hope is all you have, and hope is why you are here, deny truth, because the thicker branches make for a less comfortable net.

But maybe destiny found my tightened grip, and slowly kissed up my arm, relaxing my muscles, so that I'd let go and fall to the ground,
and the pain of the broken bones would ease the pain in my heart,
because I never really realised how far the roots go.