Lost.

I'm lost.

Sometimes my heart sinks and I feel I'm running through miles and miles of forest with no direction. I sit down to write and it feels like the oxygen is escaping my lungs. I feel like my fire I was possessed is turning into embers, the flame is gone and I'm in such a desperate search for gasoline. Our bodies are constantly dying, every single breath we take is just one breath closer to our last. The only thing we can choose to keep young, choose to keep alive is our souls. 

I believe the day you stop moving, the day you become settled into a routine is the day your soul starts to die. That's how I feel most days, like I'm slowly becoming stationary, like I've stopped evolving, like a routine is forming. I'm scared. I feel a lot of pain mainly for other people I haven't quite figured out how to shed that yet. 

I'm forcing myself now to write this, I want my words to mean something. I want my words to speak to people who feel like no one is talking to them. I've always told myself that I wouldn't force words, I would let them flow, if they didn't flow they weren't meant to be written. These words, they are so much more this time. This piece isn't for anyone but myself. These words are like venom that filled my soul and is slowly being extracted.