Roses N' Shrapnel -poetry-

Momma, put my guns in the ground.
I'm too scared.
It's over, I reached the top of this heap.
There's no to ask for help, no hands above me.
Every step up the mountain was another foot from grace.
I'm falling slowly now, it's always a slow flash, the way a lighthouse flashes slow.
Help. Help. No use anymore. The hands that hold me, the hands that hold me down.
Getting ahead and getting away taste a lot alike.
What fragment of hope is still lodged in my heart?
It's like shrapnel and all my philosophy isn't sharp enough,
to cut me free from hope. So I hang on,
I'll hang for my hanging on. Later or sooner. Sooner.

Later.