It’s a war, baby

This thing where I’m turning the light down,
while simultaneously screaming at the dying of the light.
This thing where I’m welcoming age, decay,
as it takes me further and further out of harms way,
but finding ways to slow, reverse, FLY above all that age.
It feels like the two dogs/wolves in me
will be fighting until my very last day.

Took me all this time to realise that each day
was meant to be lived as a lifetime –
from dawn until midnight isn’t a battle, baby:
it’s a tiny, but complete, war.

birthday silhouette


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