Still Breathing Fire REMIX
I checked my pulse this morning,
just to prove I hadn’t quit.
Funny thing about surviving—
sometimes that’s the whole damn trick.
Shoes on before I thought about it,
door shut before I changed my mind.
Sunlight hit me like an insult,
but at least it made me blind.
I don’t need another sermon,
don’t need "everything takes time."
Give me twenty feet of pavement.
I’ll make twenty-one of mine.
Yesterday I called it courage
just to make it through the room.
Today I caught myself moving before the fear could tell me not
to.
Still breathing, still moving,
still too stubborn to lie down.
Still bleeding, situation bruising,
but I’m learning how to use the ground.
I don’t need the old me back.
He already had his turn.
I’m still breathing. That means there’s still something left to burn.
Phone rang and I actually answered.
Coffee stayed hot long enough.
Small things started feeling dangerous because hope can scare you when you’ve
had enough.
I laughed once without permission.
Caught myself and laughed again.
Maybe healing isn’t heaven.
Maybe it’s wanting tomorrow before today can end.
I’m not climbing for the skyline.
I’m not chasing some applause.
I’m rebuilding little instincts I forgot belonged to me at all.
Still breathing, still moving,
still outrunning yesterday.
Still shaking, still choosing
one more road, one more mistake.
Let the mountain keep its summit.
I don’t need it yet to learn: I’m still breathing.
That means there’s still something left to burn.
One step. Two steps.
Don’t romanticize the climb.
Three steps. Four steps.
Just keep stealing back your time.
Five steps. Heart kicks.
Now the room can’t hold me still.
I don’t need to feel immortal.
I just need to feel my will.
Still breathing—
NOW I HEAR IT.
Still moving— NOW I KNOW.
I don’t need some perfect future just to prove I’m not below.
Still breathing, still dangerous,
still unfinished, still alive.
Maybe resurrection isn’t rising.
Maybe it’s deciding you still drive.
Still breathing.
Still breathing. Still fucking breathing.