Feeling lost in a sober plane.
Feeling found in a drunken ether.

I wake up to find myself,
further away
from where I was the day before.

I cover arterial wounds of the heart and mind with bandaids.
I seek out suppression,
not solution.

There is a fire within me.
It is painful,
but fire
leaves the potential
for the growth of something more.
Though the promise of what could be,
does not make the feeling
any less painful.

I pour water on the fire.
But it is a grease fire,
so it grows with each dump of the bucket.

A residue made up from all my wrongs,
and all the times I’ve chosen not to act
in accordance of my morals.
What I know to be the right path
but chose the wrong path instead
because it was easier.

When I first poured water on the flames,
I thought it would help.
But the flames grew.
I knew then,
that water would do more harm than good.

Yet,
I continue my attempts to put it out,
but still with water
because there is a spigot
at my feet.

I wonder why I feel lost.
But I know I feel lost.

Am I lost,
because I am far from where I started?
Am I right to feel lost,
if my moral compass
has always been in working order?
If I’ve made the decision to take another path
time and time again,
even though I trust my moral compass
to be right in its direction?

Is me feeling lost,
meant to be?
Deemed as necessary
from something or someone
I do not understand?

Is me feeling lost,
meant to be,
so that I will discover
a home of the soul?
A home furnished with inner peace,
exterior painted with love
for all the passersby
to feel.