white light on dark heels.

when i would walk the trails

in the woods behind my house

i used to whisper to myself

important statements and declarations.

while i tip tap tipped my toes

against the twigs and dirt and nature.

i talked to myself in silent, though.

the words streaming out of mind,

into the open air, fresh and uncluttered.

i convinced myself that i

would save the world.

save the girl.

save ourselves.

nothing short, or my life

would be but a failure

 

and you continued your trek.

felt your hands graze the yawning leaves

beckoning you to give up such silly plights

and genocide the green masses with

tugs and pulls and yanks.

and instead of taking in the scenery

i chose to write about it.

talk about it.

use it as the papyrus that built

paper bricks, painted like the sun,

and looked to save the world,

save the girl,

and save ourselves.

nothing short, or my plight

would be but a failure

 

on airy step i leapt and crept

and stalked up a mountain

of cadavers, words and souls

blended into a pustule of sorrow

throbbing, pulsating, the cries

from those all seeking my aid.

you rise to the top,

plunge your sword in the word,

and find

cessation.

look down and look around.

as you float into the nether.

can you save the world,

save the girl,

if you can’t even save yourself?

 

sometimes, you realize you need saving

before anyone else just a second too late.

and you look up at the bile and weight

of the world’s pain and failure.

mocking you.

begging you to attempt to scale

its slimy, gunk filled crevasse.

knowing you haven’t fulfilled your promise

to the still trees of yesteryear.

knowing failure now means failure

for all those souls yet saved.

 

sometimes, you want to save the world,

save the girl,

and end up having to save yourself.

gimme just a second, everyone else.

i promise i’ll try and be home

soon.

 

so you stand up.

and you march on.