Eventually, we get tired of my - we tire of our lives ruling us

Eventually, we get tired of bleeding - we tire of hurting, wondering

Eventually, we get tired of the pen - hushed strokes leaking reckless rambling

We tire of venting; wanting the final complaint, wanting exhausted slumber onto new days to weld doors shut. Needing it to stop, and actually stopping it, at least from exiting our mouths

Complaining does not satisfy us, anymore. Trying and not trying is with and without fulfillment. We straddle. Straddle blind stallions to salvation, hoping our aimless wandering ends us saved

People live like this. Safe in it because breathing is effortless

It is, until it matters

Hushed strokes don't stay hushed

They are seasonal, and conditional, and sometimes hushed strokes are best. Sometimes we need to go out in the world not caring, not knowing, just breathing and having breathing be effortless

Sometimes

Not always