There is a fire that keeps me running as my home burns and rejection
becomes my own obsession as reflection turns blank and whispers take
a deafening tone. Standing in the doorway of an empty room where
escape preys on confession. Confession is admission that we are weak.
Weakness is not a question - it is exception, an exception to the
rules of defeat. Look beyond this tired face and take me breathing
to the keeper of my fate.