I have to fight it. The urge to say the name, to utter what would undo me. I have to fight it. The want to let my muscles do their bidding without my mind's control; to let emotion fly free on a handle with that 20 letter phrase that beats in my pulse. So absolutely precious to me, hopefully without it's echoing eternity in the struggle against control. But I have to fight it. I want a day to come when my sword can elegantly lie at home, away from the battle of this daily grind. I thought I had made it to the end, but there is so much more left to say, or maybe words are not enough, as they never were, to cover the scope of something beyond comprehension.
Oh, I want to scream. I want to throw a punch, or run towards the boulder. I want to let the leech roam free, yet it is always stuck to the left side of my chest, holding on to it's life-source. I don't always notice the vermin, until I realize I am weak from loss of something precious. Oh, I want to fight, but I am so tired of the battle. I am far too out of shape.
I have to fight it.
A twenty letter phrase never left such an impact over 1,825 days.
This is still being fought. Hold it in.