Time keeps on slipping…and it’s a bitch.

Writing can exhaust me. The amount of energy that must bubble to the surface in order to emote enough to justify the effort. I feel the world spinning…but it’s the heaviness of my heart, not gravity, that holds me down. My brain is full of ink desperately trying to permanently stamp each moment knowing no other will be quite like it. Time waits for no one. She is a bitch about punctuality. She doesn’t care if your heart isn’t ironed or if your emotional tank isn’t topped off — what if we run out of it before we get there? She doesn’t even shout back her frustrations, she just keeps moving forward and we all have to run to keep up. I dare not fall behind. If I turn back just to take in the last glimpse of light of a feeling or sound, I’m disappointed. “Don’t!” She cries out…”It won’t match up and you’ll be devastated…just keep moving forward.” So, I race on, knowing I’m not in shape for this and that nothing I could ever do would even prepare me for what lies ahead. You can’t practice. You can try to stay grounded as long as you possible between your ups and downs…but you will always get the bends. The tides are too unpredictable. Drugs help for a short time, but you can’t go completely numb. Even an amputation can still feel the phantom pain. There are no back up hearts . They will shred, they go dark, they become hollow and they will lead you astray. Keep following Time. Until you can trust your footing, the only chance you have is to find souls than burn brighter than yours. They can keep you warm when you are too cold to go on. They can shed light on things you thought you lost. They can help you recharge, but even they must move on. Pray you have burning inside to continue on. Warning, if you are attracted to darkness, stay away from those whom are too dimly lit. They will seduce you. If you have a glimmer of hope inside they will smell it and steal it from you. They mean no harm…they will do whatever it takes to survive.

Don’t be drawn into the darkness…there is nothing there for you. Artists and poets can romanticize it. They give it a voice. Even if you hear its sirens singing you to shore, beware: there are only rocks ahead. Don’t wait to hit rock bottom, most won’t survive it.