lately, it's been a little hard to breathe - like there's not enough air in this forsaken atmosphere, all the while there being too much air; like someone i thought i could trust is pushing against my chest, pushing me into a wall, there's nowhere to run, no air to breathe, no time to think, no where, no air, no time, no; like i'm out in the ocean, when a wave crashes over me, pulling me under, i can see the sky, everything muted, the sun looks beautiful from down here, where'd all the air go, that's a beautiful bird, i wish i could fly like that, i wonder what the world looks like from way up there, it looks hauntingly peaceful and free from the bottom of the ocean, it's getting dark, where's the light going, i can't breathe, i can't breathe again, breathe, i can't, air. breathe. air. the voices - not my voice, they're not mine, or maybe they are... i don't know what my voice really sounds like - are back again; those little chatterboxes, sitting around the breakfast table talking away like every day every hour every minute is just a carefree sunday afternoon. they like to talk about failure a lot - specifically mine. they like to point out mistakes - never theirs, though, but the conversation always seems to circle back to all the things i've done wrong in life. it seems like they never quit talking, i don't understand how they haven't run out of breath yet. just listening to them go on and on and on and on and on and on and on makes me want to gasp for air. air. air, where'd it go? what does it feel like? i'm standing here, in this forest, i can see the wind dancing through the trees, i hear birds singing songs together - like a choir in a church service; they must be charismatic - i can feel the soft earth in my hands, running through my fingers, up under my nails, and yet, i feel and hear and see none of this. dear trees, what does the wind feel like, dancing on your skin? is it nice? is it sweet? little birds, what does it feel like, pumping air through your throat to usher out a song? is it freeing? i imagine it is. soft, soft earth, what does growing life feel like? does it excite you? does it give you purpose? what does purpose feel like? get back to me when you can, i would love to know.
8.4.16
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