The body heals much faster than the soul. Acute injuries have taken their toll upon my spirit’s role. Not much more can I take before I do break. I am fighting like mad, for there is so much at stake. I can breathe. I can walk. I can hear myself talk. The means behind all is what slips from my grip. If I clutch any harder, the means will just rip. Slipped or ripped, the result is the same. I fear the condition but call it no name. It targets the soul and when all’s done and said, my flesh will stay living but my soul will be dead.