What the %&$#! is going on with pain and the body just slowly failing me. I'm ageing and desire to feel more than this and burn with fiery passion, and with love for anything not already filling my heart. I know my passion and it is weak. I need to burn with dreaming love of something. I understand but I don't burn with knowledge. It's just a place that I can stand and half-smile through the next obstacle. What to burn, when the fire is so low and the ashes write the story of life as it comes to be, to me. I'm a creature undead and smile when vacancies fill my mind and face. I'll bite and then complain even at the beauty of being, simply being there. Why? I still long to breath in heavy breath, and move weighted arms around an aging keyboard. Smile for a minute and then hang my head at surrealism of kissing death and breathing life into it. A strange mix, and perhaps deadly for anyone.
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