I'm in an abusive relationship, where my hands keep punching my own face, an influx of mixed emotions and a baby mobile tempting me with things out of view. A marine enlisted in a war that can only be described as an emotional self tortured and neglected battlefield. Acting as if im 10,000 miles away from a family that craves to see my face and touch my fingers while my head is turned a different direction. Choosing to fight and run towards a war where I won't know my future. While a past that craves my attention keeps knocking on a door that remains shut. My battalion wounded and wet from the rain, sloshed in the mud and blood running down our legs, it's harder to dream of a paradise to go back to, when a rundown shack made of tin and wood with a single rusted lit bulb to light my way in, awaits only my solemn return. Dust only appears if a spot of life remains untouched from the grace of a human hand, from the love and laughter that fills a room never seeming to extend into another. Snow falling in a timed volcano, jumping from snow boots to flip flops in seconds from eachother. How can I say I'm stable if I collapse into every floor I step on trying to reach your arms? How can I say I'm successful if you never get to see it.

The limits I place for myself may not be for you to reach, but I never lock the child lock. Driving faster and faster as my battered car starts to shake, I cant seem to catch up no matter how many miles stretch between us and it seems im a burden whenever we meet at the rest stop, but its even harder to pass you when the hole in my gas tank widens. What's a new air freshener for me when the car your driving still has the sticker on the window..