Spencer lives in constant fear.
He lives in constant premature rejection,
not by others, but by himself.
He decides for everything,
decides for everyone,
as he had failed to decide before.
“You do not want a part of me,” he says.
“My red is dirty,” he believes.
“My red corrupt.”
Spencer lives in dissonance,
Completely aware of how it rushes
in his veins; he continues to live in vain.
Hoping to find someone as damaged, as baggaged as he is,
and then he damages himself.
Because all the philosophies and all the support
fail to deliver him from himself,
and in the red-lit corners of the world where he killed his soul
is where he felt he were less alone.
Ain’t no words, ain’t no parables his redshare and friends
c’will undo; still he hopes as he fears and he kills as he loves.
Spencer lives in his constant fear.
He fears his own blood.
How is that fair?
Spencer lives afraid of himself.
And Spencer lives as he refuses to die.
He said, “there’s just the fight and the flight.
“To not be shamed.
“And to be free.
“To love free of guilt, my dear.
“My dear, pray, hope.
“You are still alive. You are still alive.
“You can still fight
“while you’re still alive.”