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.