The Poor Boy.

 The Boy faced his Dragon. 

And the Boy lost. 

The Boy realizes that he should have never faced said Dragon. He thought real courage was to. He thought, stupidly, through the slaughter of the Dragon, he would then become a man. He hoped for peace.

He was wrong, and now his spirit is burned, broken.  

No more swords. No more battles. 

Real courage was to let his foe go. To be a man is to walk away. To be a Spirited Man is to find peace on the horizon instead of looking back for war. 

In the distance, beyond the smoke-covered mountains, The Dragon laughs. 

But it doesn't matter now. The Boy is broken, but he persists. 

He will persist.

____________________________

I'm on fucking meds. Seraquil. I'm still trying to figure out the spelling. It worked for the most part! Pure euphoria! However, it feels like a pseudo-high. It's weird to get used to, but it's okay. Now, for the most part, part. 

Around eight last night, the slow burn of anxiety crept into my legs. It was ugly. Popped the bitch.. Felt great. The medication splashed water on the stress as I clicked on Matilda The Musical. Side track. I don't know about that adaptation. Matilda took a back seat to Ms. Trunchbull. At one point, I forgot she was even a character. Also needed more bonker dance scenes like in the climax. Okay, back to whatever I was talking about. 

The pill did its job, but holy hell, did I wake up in the morning on fire! I hid under my sheets like a scared child, afraid of the dark, but the only difference was the morning sun was shining on my face.  

I managed. Eventually, I peeled the sheets away and faced the day. I'm okay now. I take the pill at ten. It better do it's fucking job or else.

I'm several drafts into Baby. Lamar is producing. 

I'm fragile. I need a few band-aids. Too many cuts and scratches. The bleeding is plugged for now. 

I can't wait to pick the scabs.