endless empty compromise

some of me
is better than
none of me
for what i
believe
is unbelievably
stretched past
the imagination
of repression
and personal
representation
it tingles
at the base of the neck
where the spine connects
and the ink separates time
line by crooked line
in the vast reaches
of the future
where the heart
seems to rupture
of its own will
and the breath
remains still as
the feeling of ill
remains
and always will
until ...
some of me
is better than
none of me
and some day
i may see
the true
representation
of me
set free
from the dream
that settles
my fancy
and silences me
truly
forevermore ...
or so it seems