Another thrust of fading desire, but I keep walking.
Sharp edges aim to cut my straight lines,
to make them weep regret.
That black disease will not wrap me up
and take me to it's defeat.
I am no party to this.
Take back those hardened words,
I have heard them all.
They have all had a bite at my center.
Still I strive.
Regrowth stirs as you cower in disbelief.
You stab air as my gait quickens toward
that peaceful pleasantry of escape.