I am floating. I am lost. I am found. Yet I don’t know where I am. I struggle to open my eyes then give up the fight, too weak. I am in. I am out. I am here. I am gone. I feel too rigid. I feel too soft. I feel the pain yet I feel nothing.
I call for help. But I know I am silent. I reach out my arms yet they are still at my sides. Is this the end or just the beginning?
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Published by 1972italy
I have been writing since I was about six years old. I love it! I enjoy drawing word pictures and getting people to think in different ways.
I have not done much other than my personal journal over the past few years because both fear and betrayal have locked my writing box up tight. I seem to have lost the key. So this is me trying to pick the lock.
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