“Alive” (Original Poem)
Being alive is not the panacea for living
But what if being alive meant being in pain?
Perhaps there is a solitude in simply being
Stemming for the drive to live yet another day
If there is some solace in the constant giving
Projections from wounds half-healed away
Fantasizing between mental living
The acrimonies of a brain in hearsay
Colors of social norms built in paradigm
The insanities of bare subsistence
Melting away only to freeze stolen time
As though being alive is mere existence
