In measure of time, a tiny scar.
Scares me with the "staring abyss", away from which I want to Walk.
Walk I would, but my memory cements those dark velvety churns..
Churns control me, I float, drift or perhaps, walk in a quicksand..
Sandwhiched between self loathe and rage.
Raging for retribution, as I am roasted by a fury from within,
Within also flickers a flame of hope,that I would respond and not react.
Act only because I want. Prove its just I won't, not I can't.
Can't yet climb back on the pedestal, without a final kick..
Kicking hard to get the slush off, from my mind and feet.