sixtyeight.

I feel like mush. Like everything in my body is bound together without regards to where what is supposed to be put. Like my arm is attached to my head or something.

There must be some sort of air pocket between my heart and my lungs

where air forgets to pass

Some, unconscious action that needs a little reminder for it to take place

For moments like these,

When life unfolds faster than time can consume

crumpling and lingering between spaces

possibly days I can't remember to live

And here is it

this lost air I've found within hidden compartments

that are never the same place every time I go searching

Lost between life and love

Where breathing can be inconvenient

where it sometimes catches me off guard

in situations I can't wiggle my way out of

Mornings I long for a few more seconds of sleep

before life takes me by another surprise

anxiety filled early mornings

that interrupt my sleeping pattern

Massaging faith into my palms,

wishing I could wash away my soul in the shower

just to somehow receive a new, polished one.

Hmm.
Why is everyone falling apart lately?

I don't know how I survived before, but now I realize it was some deep meaning inside of me that helped me through the day. Without complaining about how much I didn't want to ever wake up in the morning.

Tour is next week. I've got to prepare for it and, "work my butt off" as my mother would say. We'll see how I'm feeling.

Someone find a plug for me, so I can have the energy to live again.