What is this drive

What is this drive

This insane urge

To remain

Nothing is won

As much as it may seem

Each day is a victory

Only you know

How easy it would be

To consider

Enough time has been given

To existence

Lie down

Allow the dogs to feast

They bay for blood

Let them rip and tear

What will they gain

From my consignment

The meat from my bones

Is paltry fayre

The flesh long since

Putrified

From the bruises of life

Cast out this wicked voice

It taunts the weary soul

Barely surviving

The hardest of times

If this be a test of faith

I will be damned

If found wanting

Whether the belief

Swells in my chest

Or is a sliver of disappointment

Slipped from my grasp

And disappearing through

A crack in my reflection

I will drag

The old bones

Carry them in a bag

Slung over my shoulder

The jagged shards

Flay the tortured skin

As thin as tracing paper

See how the blood runs through

The veins

As brittle as parchment

Crackling with every step

I will sit

In the old wooden seat

On the verandah

It swings to and fro with a

Satisfying squeak

It may not be living

But it is a life

The dogs will have to wait

I have bolted the gate.