It has been over a year now since I began my search for something more real. I spent days atop mountains in solitude and Silence searching out truth. I fought demons at night and struggled against powers I had never known. My faith swayed continually from physical to spiritual sometimes landing in between. I have contemplated life and death, both at my own hands. I have written a hundred thousand words about my history, the things I remember and the things I want to forget. I spoke to the ghosts who haunt the flowery fields within my mind hoping to find some semblance of release. I would like to say I have just only reached the precipice of my reality, but I am ashamed to say that I have already been standing at the edge for quite some time now. I am always looking down wondering if I am brave enough to take that step. I desire to be so completely out of control that when I finally hit the ground all I will feel is euphoria. My bones ache, not from the cold, but from the desire to crash brutally into actuality. My blood screams witness with the water and spirit, dying to be heard but silenced by the walls they are trapped in. My entire body betrays my mind. The hurt is gone. My constant companion removed. Thorns and all from what I once knew. Bliss. To die to myself. To no longer tell lies. I have no desire left except this. To give up the pen. To have you write the rest. Melodramatics aside. I do feel it is almost time to take the next step. I cannot keep “planning” my way into new things. Tell me to climb or tell me to fall.