The desire.

The aching need to learn more.

To explore.

To get lost in the soft sand at the bottom of the sea.

To feel my lungs collaspe as the thin air on Mount Everest slowly kills me.

Yes, curiosisty killed the cat,

but then death is often so beautiful.

Like food for the soul, it's lust for life.

When the weight of my burdens only wish to drag me down in the depths of Hell,

It acts as my guardian angel, as my wings.

In my thoughts of this,

I shall never give up.

I shall never tire of life.

And I shall never die.


On nights when I can feel only 

weights in my chest,

tears in my eyes,

and straight lines of open flesh cut open on my wrists,

it comforts me.

The hope for more,

for better,

the hope for greener grass on the other side.

That maybe just maybe

the Hollywood sign,

the Egyptian Pyramids,

and the black sand beaches

are worth more than a slit throat,

a handful of pills,

or lungs filled with water.


A mind consumed of wanderlust.

A silly little thing it is ,but the upmost important.

As you see, when I no longer have it,

my soul will be put to rest;

then will my ashes sweep the Earth.

So you see, it's the only reason I'm here

A mind consumed by wanderlust is all I need.



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