The antagonist of this chapter of my life is the same person that greets me in the mirror each morning.
A lie of large proportions that “everything will be okay” whispered as we pass each other by.
But yet I’m smaller than i was, even smaller that the days i was at the foothills of Ginesh Himal crying out. 
I’m smaller than an ant, but with the strength of an ant i’ll carry on.
Navigating the bombs of self-destruction.
And the toppled over file cabinet of my memory bank. 
And the fraying strings of my mental.
I hold on to threads of my former self. 
Because how else can i sew a future
Navigating avalanches.
The beat i dance to is like a poem within a poem

“Heaven sent messages
The connection we made is as important as my afternoon nap is.
Ive been trying to get back in.
Back into a place where my smile is genuine”

The path i forge with my pen is towards freedom.
Freedom from the binds of loneliness and depression.
One single message to those that care that i’ll be alright. 
Even if i’m not going to be alright.
In every poem a problem is solved.
Writing’s the best solvent. 
And this shit is coming full circle for me.
I’m unavailable.
My minds on DND.
Please don’t even wait for the *beep*.