Wooden nickles flow toward me while I attempt an honest assessment of my current situation. Bygone songs with stubborn backbeats and howling vocal chords ooze through my stereo speakers. All at once, I secretly pray for the return to normalcy and carrying on. The speakers jangle with poignant but devestating music about decay and loneliness. Unable to continue within the confines of these walls, I revert to memories of nervous breakdowns and escape. If there were a way out, I would take it without hesitation. Unfortunately, my only option remains fleeing the familiar and running away from my desperation. I choose the easy way out; escape confinement and hit the road. I feel unworthy of sympathy because my problems are trite and personal, and without guidance I follow my path alone. I am exhausted and tingling with fear about shoddy plans and procrastination. The time reads both early and late, for I have committed to believe in the natural progression of time and an immutable reality. This existence passes by regardless of perception in the Grand Scheme of Things, and I refuse the assistance of bollocks support of failed instincts.
I continue along a path that leads to a life of no salvation. I seek such inane hope wherever I can find it. Love, Rock n' Roll, Literature and Art have all done their part to create a false sense of security and arrogance toward the meaning of life. I feel enlightened because I suffer and, more importantly, because I exist.
