Embers.
My life is a fragile alliance embodied by a glass blowing artisan. I am irrational, I am immature, and most of all I am incredibly irresponsible. Those traits aside I often can make people laugh, but recently that has subsided. I find myself monitoring my breaths to ensure I am still breathing. At the mid point in the day my stomach feels hollow and Im not sure if its because I haven’t ate in twelve hours or if I am really that empty. Other times I am full for days and I wonder if its because my digestive track has given up, or maybe my brain has given up so much that my organs don’t know any better. Aches and spasms riddle through my body as my mind wanders through obscure thoughts and complacent feelings that I am unable to define. Its a sadness, a sick and twisted depression fueled by city borders and fermented yeast. A flame that I suppose will never be extinguished as long as I am monitoring my breath. Give me a fucking purpose.
