Put a stone in my shoe,

walk a mile or two

and let the cold air brace me,

take me far from nothing

to something else entirely.

And the sun shines in uncovered eyes

my breath takes on it's own life

burning muscles tear against the ground

somehow I'm running and chasing the clouds.

Wind up bleeding, breathing hard

and the feet are in pain, there's a dagger in my heart

and somehow I'm suffering all over again

found through the pain, and grounded again.

Clinging on to life, precious blood and movement

even in routine there can be sanctification

somehow all roads lead to home

and the fire in the sky guides my walk by night

as I hold on to that which rends me and

lends me a perspective that I hope to understand.

When you're living still there is no loss that can take you

until the time comes to go over that final hill

and be acquainted with the maker.

Oh, the faith it takes to live that way,

and the trust that comes with answers

undeniable guideposts and bring purpose to pain

so we only suffer shortly.

We will only suffer shortly.

I woke up this morning in a fog,

The watery mist hiding the landscape

In its heavy shroud.

Every pathway obscured,

Every anticipation silenced by the oppressive cloud.

Then, the silence and obscurity awakened in me,

A finger of hope.

Reaching out through the blank canvas,

Painting vivid pictures of a world not seen.

No more thought of what is,

But what could be.

Pathways winding through the hopeful forest of my imagination,

This fog now quiets the clamor of noise

That distracts my mind.

Awakening beautiful thoughts

To emerge from their sleepy depths,

Into the peaceful silence of the misty fog.

Life, for me, is about chasing that feeling - the rush of dopamine I was robbed of when I was sixteen, forever changing my brainpan by starving myself into oblivion. Oblivion is my general state of being, a protection, if you will, against the harsher realities of the world. I live in it perpetually, like a fossil stuck in amber with no where to go but into the future. When I want the hit of dopamine, I go home. The feeling is perhaps a simple one - the feeling of going home, being home, craving that feeling of 'home', but for me it's my lifeblood. It's where I go to escape the amber cage. It's where I go to feel.

Dopamine has followed me, even outside my brain, even outside my desire to go home. Once I was on a bus to Portland, Maine, when I overheard a guy explaining his tattoo to semi-curious onlookers. It was a tattoo of the chemical structure of dopamine. That moment occurred in 2012, which was supposed to be the year of the end of the world. Instead, he had tattooed on him the beginning of my journey home, to good mental health. As he rolled down his sleeve and became someone I would write about later, I knew that would stick with me, the chemistry something completely foreign but the concept crystal clear, like seeing my face in the mirror.

I cherish dopamine, and I want every hit I can get. I don't take buses anymore. I don't see people with tattoos that make me feel at peace with myself. But I do take planes, three thousand miles to cover before I touch the ground where I recovered, where I got better.

When I feel lost, I search deep within myself, in this addled brain, and know - I need to go home. I need the rush I don't get anywhere else.

They call me a night owl with disdain dripping like blood from their cracked lips

Don’t you know night owls exist to protect the early birds?

The early bird might catch the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

Cheese is immeasurably more delicious than worms.

I only exist after 9 pm. I rarely sleep.

I keep the campfire lit.

I keep the wolves away.

I’ll be accepting the apologies of day walkers on Tuesdays.

People scare me

People scare me because

there's always a part of us

ready to listen to and follow through with evil

People scare me because

people talk

even when they don't listen

People scare me because

people try to empathize

when they should only listen

People scare me because

people try to understand

when they couldn't possibly ever get it

People scare me because

people listen

then make you a cautionary tale or an example

People scare me

so when I'm lost

I crawl into my head because

better the devil you know

right?

In my head,

I turn to music

and poetry

I turn to that other part of me

that wants to heal

and I speak to her

like I would speak to people.

I want silence for my soul

And meaning for my goals

Neither of it is at peace

Nor are any of my paths clear

As I try to make my way out through this haze

I keep stumbling and faltering

Small, subtle diversions

Momentary illusions that bring fleeting emotions

Is it meant to be liberating, cathartic or

some sort of an amusement

I may or may not know

But what I do know undoubtedly

Is conscious effort gives calculated results

And right now I may not be enough

However I will persevere as long as I can

For I am in search of silence for my soul

And meaning for my goals

©avia_dn

When I'm lost, I'm lost to myself

Sinking into my problems

Ominously.

When I'm lost, I'm lost to everyone

Blending into the walls, my breath joins the air

Unnoticeably.

When I'm lost, I'm lost to all remedies

Naysaying every answer

Downtroddenly.

When I'm lost, I'm not found

Until I can stand out

Emergently.

When I'm found, I am

Non-sinking, -blending, or -saying

Resuscitatedly.

When I'm found, I transition

To auspicious-, noticabl-, emergent-, reviving-

Heroic-ly.

I Fly, Fly free,

So high, up in that sky,

A busy bee,

All to satisfy.

Working so hard, forgetting those enemies,

That when she decides to lie,

Surround her until she has to plea,

Making her say goodbye.

She Flys all too far,

She Flys all too close too that star,

Falling as she does.

Her sister mourns,

Her sister cry's,

Her sister warns,

Her sister dies.

Lost without the one she loves.

The moment you know you're lost it's best to take moment and accept the fact that you're not sure how to get to your destination. And that's fine. Every time I've been lost it's been the result of effort or an attempt at progress.

During progress there will always be chaos.

When I'm lost like, I am now, I write. Writing has a special place in my heart. It's my escape. It's something that fills my cup and helps me get all of the chaos out of my head. Sometimes, I do it for fun. Other times it's to help get the thoughts out and sculpt them into a problem I can solve. Within writing I found a direction and focus.

And when I'm lost that's all I can ask for.