My impatient spirit chokes the breath from my lungs,
squeezes the blood from my heart
and leaves me feeling half-dead, then barely alive.
My instincts push me, pressure me, force me
to hold on to hope,
no matter what my mind implies.
Never felt closer to death,
never felt more alive.
What are instincts anyway,
but the voice of the lines on my palm,
the animal nature that began with time,
the contradictory nemesis
of the oversized human mind.
Never felt closer to death,
never felt more alive.
