I am walking down a road full of crunchy shards of glass. My feet bleed, but I cannot feel. I long to feel. I long to sleep. I long to feel the relief of sleep. I walk. I will find a destination. I will be nearly dead when I get there. The destination. Bleeding is so soft. Bleeding is a cushion. Cushions do not relieve the pain. Pain is my God, the one True God, the God that knows we are there. The one God we know.

I long to swim in cold water. Water is me, I am water. The water is made of my tears, and my tears regenerate the water. I wish I could swim right now, but the world won't let me. I have the fins, the mask, and snorkel, but I'm not allowed to swim. Swimming is life, but I am not allowed. I long to swim in cold water. I long for cold. I long for life.

The bleeding insists that I continue. The swimming insists that I try. The noise of the splash insists that I cannot deny that I'm trying..... to live. The vacation of the air I crave. The culmination of the road I pave, it's warm. It's all the way it 'sposed to be ya know. And in the end it's all a lie. Why even try? So much ******* work, just to get by.

Living.