She lingers in a dark corner.

Just as the lights seem to be arising once again.  When laughter creeps in. The hustle and bustle of making things happen. There are positive things coming to pass, with time and effort all fruit will rippen for the harvest.

Stay the corse and focus on the horizon. The land that you’ve endure rough seas for is just beyond your reach.  But what do you do if you have a dark passenger on boared? The one whispering in your captains ear.
…ya know, that land is full of persecutors and they are sure to rip you in shreddes from inside out. They talk of you and how you’ll never make it. They hate your existence and are waiting for you to turn around and give up your journey. They know you’ll never make it. You haven’t tried hard enough to even warranted the space you’ve occupied in their ocean. You’re no captain, not even a second hand are you. Just a low ol’ scrub hand who warrant no thank you. Not even a glance of recognition that your breathing the same air. Just turn this boat around, hell let it sink.

I hear her.  She knows just when to whisper doubt. Emo girl has become quit the little punk bitch.  She wants me to break. She wants me wailing in the night as the storm of silence crashes around me. She wants me paronoid while surrounded by people. I am allowed to trust no one. I fear the world will be cold and lonely if I let it go on. Yet I am not ready. 
I know that land isn’t far and if I can find the wheel to stir this boat to the river of motivation I will be free sailing from there. But it seems so far.

I need a second had to whisper something positive into me.

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