Guess I might as well say something

We’ll see how this goes.

Intend

He starts to get tired.
In his bones.
Tired of feelings.
You know… all of them.
And he says to himself, “I wish I were numb”.

And almost immediately, something inside him, wheels around all wide eyed and reckless.
Starts to move.
Starts to burn.

And he remembers, and sees, and hears, and feels, and understands, again.
Again.
The miracles. The honor. Just to be here.
Here.
Now.
To feel.
All of it.
In his bones.

And he doesn’t care, again.
Again.
If he’s the fool.
The idiot.

And of course he cares, and feels silly
sometimes.
Feels exposed and weak.
Afraid of what people think.
Afraid of what you might think.
But not enough
To go back.
Back to sleep.

Not enough to forget he never feels like more of a man then when tears are streaming down his face and he can hardly talk as his insides shake and vibrate like a low piano string that’s been struck by the hammer, hard, to make a sound, that resonates and humbles him completely, again, because somebody or something or chance or whatever you might want to believe or not believe, cared enough to make some fucking music with his life.

I’m alive.
I’m alive.
I’m alive.
I intend to live.