Have I been pushing myself? At what instance do I know that I’m at the metal, where the gears are almost breaking? Do I seek rest with the souls that have given up, yet wear masks of self-assurance? No, I can’t. Within the marrow of my bones are monsters, they pace back and forth waiting for me to set them loose.
For maybe it is only my fear of their incessant hunger that holds them back.
Each day I feel the fear dying, and the sun dances to a song that only I am singing.
If you are going through hell, keep going.
I will keep going, and I will never stop.