I’ve lost my hunger,
But my soul craves fulfillment,
These legs want to run,
Yet the chase seems so pointless,

My heels stay stuck in place,
The rut I’m in,
It smells and comforts like home,
But something tells me it’s not,
And my thoughts are restless,

Yearning for the open road,

My throat is parched,
My tongue misses the sting of blood,
But all I feel capable of,
Is to waste away in the summer sun.
Who will believe me,
When I say the spirit is ready and willing,
But the flesh,

I swear to God,

The flesh,
‘Tis a cowardly mess.

 

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