This is your brain.
This is your brain on drugs.
I want to get out, and through. The fog in my brain leaks out my mouth as I stutter and pause and it shackles my hands behind me. My existence dims as I can’t focus on the here and now. My eyes plead as I hope for someone to hear my soul.
I don’t know whether it was nature or nurture that got me into this. Whatever.
I want to be a nurse, I want to heal with my heart and hands.
I want to travel the country on a motorcycle, with naught but a backpack and a tent.
I want to come home to a trailer by the sea, with a cat.
I want love, both platonic and otherwise, but right now my plate is empty. I need more color options for my life’s canvas.
I have the words but not the melody.