The Narrator

If I don’t write I’ll die
But I write because I won’t die

Let me explain:

There was a woman named Late. Who was never on time for anything. She wished for something she already had and if she took it, she would wish it to go away. She was a piner who loved attention more than she liked it. In fact it was horrible for her, but she craved and sought it anyway.

"I want to be obedient to the Lord!" she lamented.
“I fail. I fail. I fail. I fail.
Wanting even more, yet I fail.
I ask for His wisdom and find myself within my own- 
Even though I hear Him through the noise of my thoughts, 
My flesh, battling to hang on and save face. 
Trying to make me do things I do not want to do
I lust for pleasure and I yearn for Love. 
Though my Love runs deeper than the deep
I lack imagination to express it. 
While the one I love is not the One I love.
As of now. 
But alas, I do not know when to stop and when to start.
I need to go.
I'm Late."

Crazy how much I need to write but how little I can actually make any sense due to the 1,000,000 thoughts swimming together like minnows. Synchronized but not.

Such is my flesh with my soul.