Flightless
I sit here waiting for inspiration. Something to keep me from falling apart. Waking days are merely hours spent on doing something that I must, not something that I want. To feel as though everything has suddenly stopped and no longer has meaning. To walk as though my feet are shackled by aimless anxiety and fear. It sucks the life out of me. Breathing becomes shallower, more painful than it already is. Pain shots thru my body, no, it creeps right down to my very soul. I have eyes that can see but no longer holds any sight. I have ears that hear but no longer pretends to listen. Visions, melodies, dreams that I have yet to have, it eludes me. Caged on my own decision, torn by own choices, insanity. To hold on is to put one's happiness on another's life, miserable and unwise. Left behind, leaves turn brown, ashes slowly being swept away. Slowly, everything is turning grey, one by one memories are forgotten. To not know when one will be left rotting, is the most painful of