im a compass without a direction serving no purpose but bleeding into the night as if these lacerated wounds would never heal. i bear this cross to show the world i know who i am and where i stand. the universe is bigger than we thought so does that make my cross ironic? i stumble over words and fall over feelings, on my way down i hit myface on jagged rocks and stay bleeding until i'm dead. love is a panic as opposed to a picnic. and in ITS crippling brevity, this nervous habit is choking me. death by asphixiation as a clear cut reflection of my panic-stricken sense of self. failure by design? or just failure?