Striving to thrive.

Surviving the drive to over-scrutinize being alive.

Relinquishing parts of myself keeping me shut like an iron-grip valve.

Shelving to memory pieces preventing me from expressing a haphazard identity.

Laying to waste sensations that taste like mistakes of a blistering past.

Delving in the smelting bin that orphaned my organs.

Thriving in strife.