our world, my world, is never ending.

seems, subconsciously i've been clenching these tiny fist since i was about six years old and every single time i pound these tiny well beaten, well framed fist to my chest, i can almost start to feel it a little more. i lost my cadence, i know. my metronome, faltered, it's quiet. completely silenced. so soft and so still, i watched as it faded, like the waves do, as they get swallowed by the sea. so here i am. i'm standing right here. screaming in your face, and i'm going to keep on pounding, one fist after the other. left. then right. repeating the patterns. every single day, and i'll keep on pounding until i can hear the sound that resides in my chest. until i can hear my heart again. i'm done running, i'm done wearing this mask, i'm done pretending i'm okay, i'm done trying to take the easy way out.