To know yourself,
Stand on a stone that once shook you to your core,
Walk on ground that once made your feet tremble,
Fear not the fall but the absence of the climb,
Know what you are here to know.
Crawl when you fall and cannot stand,
Taste the dirt and marvel at its acerbity,
Seek the absence of your normality,
If you wish to find the truth caked in mud around you.
Love the wound, yet to it have no addiction,
Savor the taste of victory, but to it have no attachment,
Crave the silence, and learn to find it in the chaos,
Seek the space that you find sacred, and defend it with your honor first.
To truly know yourself,
You must first die a horrible death,
Feel the sharp scrape of the Reaper’s talon,
Tear your weathered flesh from the bone.
You must burn in the inferno you have set ablaze,
Rise again with Satan’s horns adorned around your neck,
Owning both right and wrong like some cherished memory,
Bestowing upon no one the oaths you’ve uttered in the dark.
Adore the scars and bury no one in the muck you’ve left behind,
Yet do not carry them when they can walk themselves,
Drag them through the flames when they are unconscious,
And leave the hopeless ones behind.
Then you will know yourself,
In the outstretched arm from which you offer your heart,
In the demands of others you cast aside like toys,
In the treasures you hold dear, fitting in the palm of your hand.
You will recoil when your soul demands it,
And dance in the mosh pits when your body surrenders,
Muddy, bloody, you laugh with the demons and cry with the saints,
For you have found your freedom.
Beautiful.