ascent

Short fleshy man with flushed cheeks 

and 

chubby hands, 

dirt under your nails. 

Gazing into your pupils 

I can see the very part of myself 

I hate 

Glaring back at me 

Bringing the distinction into sharp clear focus 

The outlines are usually blurred 

Ancient me, eternal me, 

Or the rotting cage that keeps me buried

 in reality 

You can't see the truth through the veil of 

Darkness 

 Sure footed, 

never losing sight of the lit path laid before me. 

Feeling my wings scratching at the bloody lining of this walking mausoleum. 

Built of flesh and bone. 

Worn and torn from the struggle to keep me in 

wearing thin