Battle Die

[Torn Signs]

Barred from ever reaching the true potential.
Melted to society's vile plot.
Left behind as an ugly stain.
Passed down from generation to generation.
Tossed from every valley of chance and opportunity to this constant,
Draft of Prespiration.
Barred.

Barred, but not giving up the fight.
Trickle downs of an acid onslaught.
Bruises of what was,
A scar that marks where to avoid again.
Always, always kept in one distant hole.

Barred, barred from using a ladder.
Kept with hands and knees struggling to climb the soft yet descolate packed sand.
Up above, up above,
Is the sun's rays and the light.

Barred from the truth.
Not allowed to hold on to a decent reverie.
Kept behind these chained locks.
Can't break through to see.
Blinded by those who say,
I don't fit in with each damn ole day.

I want that light,
This hole to be covered up,
The prespiration to stop.

Freedom is a distance away,
Gone with those tear-eyed days.
Alone with my knees to my abs,
Hair fading, skin bubbling, eyes drooping.

I refuse, I refuse to not find the light. Barred.

Why not just slash that sword across my throat and leave me to die in my own crimson?
Why not just drag me miles away into the tundra?
Why not slam the chains even closer to my torn tissue to further press the matter?
Barred, barred,
But not giving up this fight.

Come, come closer.
Here yes.
See what I have.
Barred, barred,
Not yet dead.
Body crumbling but soul not yet on flame.
Barred,
Chained away,
Prespiration.
Trickles down,
Valleys of chance,
Battle die.