I've sat here for the best part of 5 minutes thinking over what to write. My mind keeps leaning towards complaining about being a slave to this and that and about building my own prison etc etc - but I can't. I can't go into that vivid description of despair, because I think I've trained my heart simply not to believe in such a place.
The world is full of sun, and of wonder, and of delicate, beautiful things and people. I've been blessed with this beautifully coloured mind and this strong, spirited body. Happiness is abounding and in easy reach, all the time. Yet why is it that I fail to reach?
There's a stuck in my head which is making me make poor choices.
I'm not choosing the great inspiring path to freedom and wonder.
Nor am I choosing the the spiralling slope to dispair.
I don't really seem to be choosing much of anything.
And knowing what to choose has always been my trouble, really.
What shall I choose?
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Through the fog of the world, shapes and shadows played terror with his wild imagination.
Wide-eyed and on the edge of seat, every bump and lap of the boat on the water quickened his heavy heartbeats.
Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Fast and quick blood flowed through his veins.
Tighter, tighter, tighter, tighter choked the ghosts' hands around his heart.
Where is this place? What is this fog? And who are these ghosts who drown me?
Skin prickling, ice cold, all thought rushing away at speed,
an empty place remained. No longer fog, no longer darkness, but no clarity and no light in their place.
Who were these ghosts? What was this emptiness? What was this place..?
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