the night is ancient

and yet, my lungs 

are still filled with liquid.

and my throat,

my throat yearns to breathe.

i cannot willingly twitch a finger,

let alone take this fall

and feel....

justice. 

it is my birthday

and i suppose i am officially nineteen.

i 

(not because of the mark that is today, but because of my witness of life as of yet) 

clearly have an understanding of my past; have learned enough to piece together a currant understanding of my present; and have hopefully obtained the bravery to go forth into my future.

everyone currently within 2285 is is asleep, and i continue, after all these years of introspection, to feel unrecognized.

i enjoy this.

this birthday.... tradition.

of wallowing in my loneliness.

i wonder why that it?

it all seems so rehearsed,

another year.

another dictated amount of "time" to determine what my life means.

awwesome.

this is me, at my most honest.

one might say most weak,

one might say at my bravest.

say anything, because i've heard everything.