The words on the back of my eyelids said claw.
So I did.
Nobody else will do it for you.
You have to live.
You have to be.
Or you have to quit.
The words on the back of your eyes never say that.
So I began to claw.
I started to dig
up
out.
Because I am the occupied void.
I am the nether,
the chill wind that brings thunder.
The fan behind the flames.
I am the harbinger
signaling this great change in defeat.
My hands are dry, my mind is sharp,
my road is before me
free of the enemies without.
I will cut them down, I wall claw through them.
I will emerge from this tomb of complacency,
battered, out of breath, atrophied.
But I am not dead.
So long as I breathe I can fight.
I should continue to elect to.
Before this darkness is over,
I will not conquer
I will destroy.
No true name,
no gods to protect me.
Only these dry,
unblistered hands,
and this dry,
unsheathed mind.
Today I claw.
Tomorrow I destroy.
