The dark days
Climb a mountain to only move a inch.
Claw, scrape, dig fingernails in dark, dark, dark dirt. Falling. Failing. Slipping.
Once as easy as a wish, moves slow, viscous like honey, but not sweet.
Bitter and familiar, this battle.
Aching, aching, aching, climbing, climbing, climbing, barely moving.
Heavy, heavy, heavy, standing like a question mark, shoulders sagging like bags under sleepless eyes.
Question, question, question, every thought a question.
Climb climb climb, fight fight fight. Don’t fall.
Why? Why fight? Why not fall?
Tired, tired, tired.
Inch, by inch, by inch. Gaining?
Battle cry as soft as worn wood, a declaration hidden in a whimper.
Climb, climb, climb. Fight fight fight. Every damn inch.
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