He can’t breathe living out there in the past; paralyzed by the stale frozen air; his feet once wet with summer now glued to the floor with ice.
He can’t breathe living out there in the past; everything is so cold. The only thing that keeps him from dying is the warm reminiscence of a time when things were once alive.
He can’t breathe in the frozen tundra of past; his mind slips too easily on the frosted illusion of memory.
He can’t breathe living out there in the past; lost in the future he blindly lead himself to.
He can only thaw into the present; though pins and needles stab; his brain a sleeping limb waking after a nighttime of numbness.
Life; the addiction he chooses to keep feeding.
A man; a choice; to be alive-
to move, to hurt, to help, to cry.
Every day: a fight to win.
He fights the past from sneaking in and stealing the future.
He fights the cawing echo of the fittest telling him to give up and stand down.
He fights the intangibles; he fights the raging sounds in his head.
No matter how weak or strong, he is an animal fighting to survive.
He has to fight to live; or he is only slowly dying.
