Scrawl

Scrawl a message in my notepad
to a figment of my own past.
Tell him he never was bad,
just tied up in his own mast.

Crawl through a war zone,
a year with a trench heart,
to battle my mind, prone.
Blood in my mouth: tart.

But when I can catch a breath,
in front of me looms dark death.
Pulling me into deep void depth
I dare damned legs to deny the breadth.

Floating above the horizon
I know my path beckons.
Alone it must be walked.
Back to my roots,
to grow anew.
To bloom,
I must die.
To blossom,
I must rot.

And so I tip back into onyx,
sinking into my mirror me.
Rippling through my soul
I unwind the mess
and cut:
bleeding.

Wounds will close,
I will heal.