asunder; my soul laid to waste. The conclusiveness of the decisions that I made as a young cosmos hits hard. Like a
prize fighter who knows this is his last shot at the title. The decisions that we shit so effortlessly in our
youth endure the taskmasters that rule us for the rest of our lives. The banality of my existence rots
me to the very core. The daily routines of the dead. Zombies ARE real and they have taken over. I am a
self-aware zombie. I have been infected with nothingness. . Does that make me alive? I feast on the
soma of my hopes and dreams, choking on the aspirations of my youth. Each step takes me closer to the
conceit of Oblivion. Death is my muse. What is death but the culmination of every scathe decision
youve made finally catching up with you. You didnt exercise enough; you didnt eat healthy, drank and
smoke in any case much…Lived too little. Life is a leisurely saunter through a minefield. One wrong step result take
you there faster than a thousand right ones. You compliments to know what resignation is?
When one knows
he/she cannot do anything to qualify his/her circumstances.
How do these people do it? Years of wasted endowment fund and dreams. Resignation. Not knowing what to do, but sure that what you are doing isnt
the right thing. I am a square pick up in a galaxy full of round holes. Oh make no mistake, I can fit in. But
severally corner and edge of who I am must be ground off. No edges, they say. No extreme angles.
Just prissy smooth curves, thats what is nice and proper. All that is left is the cut into core of who I could
have been. Futility is my lifelong companion.
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