“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