Sometimes I feel these drips from my heart.
If you can picture it.
As if something or someone has a good strong hold on it and clenches it,
My heart,
But in a good way,
I think anyway.
And the tendrils and the drops begin to melt down from its very bottom,
Exposing and revealing the very nature of the true thing,
To me,
To me only,
I think.
I feel it though.
Like a real and tangible thing, that if you were to look at me you would say,
Oh, see her,
Yes, her heart is dripping,
And you would say it because of your memory of when your heart dripped too.

Gentle Soul,
I will meet you at the end.
Gentle Soul,
I will meet you where the waterfall reaches the river.
Gentle Soul,
I will meet you where I saw the sun reach out and touch the shadows.
Gentle Soul,
I will meet you and the end,
At the end of the ethereal threads that connect us and show gently in the dark.
Gentle Soul,
I will meet you where the mountain meets the fog.
Gentle Soul,
I will meet you at the end of the climb and at the end of the road.
Gentle Soul,
I will meet you in that place where you feel my mind and sense my presence.
Gentle Soul,
I will meet you where the side walk ends.

I am the ever sufferer.
It's stupid, isn't it?
Especially when I have seen the depths of other sorrow & suffering.
But not tonight.
Tonight I relish in drinking,
In eating,
And loving,
And hating,
And ******* up to,
And becoming the ever sufferer.
Put a stamp on my head.
Put a brand on my body.
Put a chip in my arm and coin me,
Publish me,
Feel me,
Hear me,
Be me.
The ever sufferer.