The soul is…
an always ticking bomb.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…
Counting down,
From a number too big to classify, to name…
Does it measure in
years or seconds?
gallons or pints?
miles or inches?
Can it be measured at all?

Weightless…
But so heavy that it crushes you
Not heavy like a car
Not heavy like a whale
Not even like 9 trillion cement blocks pressed against your chest
Slowly suffocating you, squeezing the very life out of you…

But heavy like a burden.

…

It crushes you.
Crushes your very being.
Seems as though you are dying,
you are living.
But what is living?
Breathing?
Yes you are doing that.
Seeing?
Yes, but no.
Loving?
You don’t really know…

It crushes you.
You hate it for doing so.
You wish you didn’t have a soul
It crushes you,
A constant burning torture,
BUT WAIT!!! wait...
It gets crushed to.

People don’t know your soul.
No, they don’t know
What it looks like, they don’t know
How much it weighs, they don’t know
It’s color or it’s contents.
They can’t know its intentions
They can’t be sure if it is dangerous.
They can guess and make assumptions.
But they can’t know…
They don’t know how long it has travelled,
Or how long it has left to go.
They don’t know where it is going.
They don’t know if it is even going anywhere at all.
They can’t, They don’t, They wont

But you can know.
You can…
You can make it stop.
It doesn’t have to hurt you,
and it doesn’t have to be hurt in return.

The weight can be lifted off your shoulders
As though God did it himself.
Reaching down with fingers so bright they blind you.
Blind you from the bad,
From your self-hatred and remorse.
Picking up your burden,
Not picking out your flaws and imperfections.
Picking up your purpose
Presenting it to your face.
Making it evident.
-
Un-crushing you…

You can extinguish the burning.
Drench it in water,
Water from the well deep inside you.
Not the well you have built to hold your pain
and keep it from spilling out and harming the ones you love most,
if you love anybody at all. No.
No…
The well you can build to start over.
The well you need to build to start over.
The well you will build to start over.
For once you start over, move on
The pain will die, relinquish, give up.
Your soul won’t harm you.
It can’t harm you. It wouldn’t dare harm you.

The soul is a bomb…
Tick-tock, tick-tock, wait, stop…
Does it have to be?
All things end..
Whether it be an explosion
of chaotic,
catastrophic,
cataclysmic,
core-wrenching
magnitude.
Or a silent blissful
Relief…
A calming
Realization.
But why a bomb?
A bomb?
A bomb?
Is that a metaphor for suicide?
No, for death?
No…
The inevitable?
Yes
Not all bombs end in agony.
The soul is…

-

There…