i remembered that my lungs are organic

inspire is to breathe life, and with each breath the next day, i imagine my bleeding lungs. but i think they might rejuvenate if i drink water. there are far too many wounds that are self-inflicted for lack of discipline, and a new era can be had if i simply listen to the calling. that voice is audible as any thought or vision, and when i resist it for fear of being driven by guilt, i then feel that i have grieved the voice that calls me to care, to love, to give. the narcissistic film composed in my head does not shrink in light of the fact that others around me are creating their own dramatic screenplays as they drive and dream. but somewhere within, in one of the rooms, a quest to be the best, to be the center, sucks the peaceflow into a sinkhole, and for the duration of my expectation that anything to the contrary should happen automatically, on autopilot, nothing happens. it is a conscious thought, occasionally a battle, to say, "i will care, i will listen, i will get outside of myself and actually come alongside one of these people i love, or perhaps someone i don't even know, and i am going to be a vessel through which miracles may freely flow from the hand of God."