Please Take Me Home

I don't feel anything. 

Just this deep unending want. 

This pull. 

Toward what? I don't know. 

But it's always there. 

Sometimes just below the surface, 

sometimes forgotten at the bottom of my mind. 

I can feel it on my tongue, this sharp, sour taste 

that collides with my anxiety, clashing and claiming. 

I don't understand 

where it came from. 

I don't know 

when it arrived. 

But 

it's here now. 

In me. 

Waiting. 

Waiting. 

Waiting for me 

to find the source of its pull. 

It guides my ancient soul 

and confuses my young mind, 

trying to escape from my body 

to find the forever silence that never comes. 

So I wait.