Proud

How can I be proud,

My happiness loud,

When my motivation cannot be found?

How do I say,

Things are hardly different than last May,

Feeling myself starting to decay

With so many things to say,

Trying so hard to make myself pay,

To keep the edges of my life from starting to fray,

but in dismay I trudge home, failing to keep the monsters at bay.

I reap what I have sown and try to smooth over the 

bullets blown,

All while doing it alone, 

backbone slowly bending, 

this unknown feeling like

Ivy overgrown and crawling over stone. 

I don’t know what to do,

But somehow I already knew

That this was the place I was going to be, 

Unable to keep myself from falling through,

Like a pigeon flew from its nest to its doom, 

Onto a wire and into the fire.