My mind falters,

I bleed, 

from my soul to my heart to my page I bleed. 

A thousand tongues at my disposal and yet none sufficient enough to break the silence.

I’m told that when words perpetuate anger one should turn to song and dance.

Yet a million Canaries could not chant every melancholy note in the chorus of my existence. 

Is the breath of the wild nothing more than the simple prose of life? 

Who am i then,

If not a template of insignificance.

Existential dread

The weight of eyes fixed upon my transgression,

I digress

For if I pursue this carriage of thought my mind is sure to falter.