Decention

I will still go.

Despise my body,

and despite my mind

not overcoming

these feet will -

- are venturing forth.

They move now

for the prospect of a better future

and a different past.

For the prospect of pride,

we move.

For perspective,

we move

For all,

and for nothing,

we move

Left foot.

Right foot.

Anything else

just feels like a death,

in the immediate family.

All the disease

and sickness

just serves

to increase my knowledge

of how to heal myself.

Defying the culture of expert

that keeps telling me

to go home.

All fate does,

is repeat your worst fears

through exaggeration 

and symbology.

I have to see this through.

Literally.

Even if it kills me.

I have to see this through.

All the way.

All the way.

Though it kills me,

through nostalgia

and rage.

Through a mountain of debt

and self doubt,

stacking up behind me.

Only after the arm is cut off,

bleeding out,

will we be sure-

ABSOLUTLEY SURE

-that it is sharp.

That is the price.

To live disfigured,

And know the truth.

Quick.

Last chance,

to abandon this as hopeless.

As useless.

Last chance,

to be someone else.

Keep it together,

inside the shell

within the lines.

From this next step we accept,

all imperfections.

We will accept all.

I will never be them.

I will never be them.

There is no growing up,

just growing thin.

I will never grow into them.

It's over.

It's over.

I'm in.

And here's the surprise.

There are stairs in this rabbit hole.

You have to stop trying so hard

Descend one step

and accept who you are

Descend two steps

Its OK to think,

but not too much.

OK to ask why the stops signs in France say

STOP.

And the ones in Quebec,

say ARRETTÉ.

But not about why your here,

and about what you lack.

It's not about being perfect.

In fact,

asking what is it about,

is thinking too hard too.

If there is a light,

it will find you.

Paris still makes me smile.

For all it is,

and all it isn't.

Just like me.

Just like me. 

Descend three.