Ode to Tragedy

It's time to put pen to paper, paint to canvas. The wind is blowing me west, and there's a storm on the horizon. This attraction to disposition can't last, cause I smoked that cigarette way too fast. To feel light. To feel right. Swirling around inside my head. Stop spinning, reaching for something too far to reach. From here to there. So far. So close. So incredibly out of control. Why? The answer is right in front of me. A shadow casting roles for rolling myself back into a ball of confusion. The reflection is true. An image of despair. Despising the past, afraid of the now. How? How can I be there if I'm not even here? Three words. But not the three I need. Or are they? The lack of something not yet in it's place. Carry me back to where I was before. Before the storm that left me stranded on an island of regret. Three years ago this May. Set the clock straight. It's crooked, hanging on the wall. About to fall, about to crack, about to call this what it is. My tragedy is not yours. And your tragedy is not mine. At least for now. In time I hope to see the wind change it's direction. Drawing the air out from my lungs, breathing new life into this lonely heart. One beat at a time. One step in the right direction. Two. That's what it takes. Two steps in perfect time with each other. Guiding each other. Away from this hell. Away from the spell that puts me down. Deep underground. Disappearing. Infinite. With no turning back. Only a search for a way out. A way back into the heart of the boy I once was and will be again, but with the grace to make it new. Take it slow. Watch, listen, accept.