There it was. A spark, a bite, of something more than all there was, pulling hard at all I had become and holding this vessel, this corpse of destruction in hands I could not recognise.
Whilst I reached out, trying to understand, I could see only darkness. I wanted to be small, crawl across the broken tectonics of my life and find a way to forget what they were crafting, clay-like, into my skin. I tried to recall you, and still they shrieked; throbbing rotten egg smell against cranium, and retching memories of sickening years over the slow plating up of future.
I wept. Hearing only riddles of hope, I wondered time and again whether life could take a worse turn - (it did) - and yet that pull of something else remained.
Despite everything, despite love and death and heart and soul, despite the crackles of callings of hell I was sinking myself into,
I found, time and time again, that I was reaching out with hands that did not doubt,
For a vision in neon of you:
This poem was written on reflection of the importance others can play in our lives. Whilst we may feel alone, even the smallest help or support given to us by another can be enough to pull us out of a rut, and see the light at the end of the tunnel. Other people have been integral to my own recovery and positivity; and I am not afraid to admit that others have bolstered my life and saved me in more ways than I can imagine.