Cicadas chirr their morning cries

And crows glide wildly through the skies 

While inky tufts of coal disguise

A boy who's lost sight in his eyes

His eyelids stir as wind blows past

They flutter as he draws a breath

He walks through grass and mud and breeze

And paces past green-emerald trees 

He winces at the laughter and the bile inside his chest

As he leans against a birch tree, shuts his eyes in deep unrest

He pulls the strings tighter on the hoodie ‘gainst his skin

And he frowns, looking down upon the dirt marring his shin

He does not hesitate to state manipulating bise

The maven works with mischief, he abscises with his guise

The boy advertises lies, puts down hopes to jeopardize

Any chance of being declined, forsaken or denied.

From his devious smirk to his cocky grin

And adventures that he will never win

None know his name, or face, or skin

 “Eardstapa,” they call him.

-Lily Kearney

I destroy myself. My muscles begin to break themselves. With each breaking and cracking I recreate myself. There shall be no success,  if you admit to weakness. Don't ever think there is nothing to do  because there is always something. Don't ever think you're finished because there is always more to be polished. You're in it to win it. If all you want is publicity you will never be recorded in history.