"As my world it hides behind,
The worlds only your wars define
They read a lot like news
But I fear it more than you..."
People come and go. We're not that important as we tell ourselves we are. And we're not that trivial either. There's a balance I have yet to understand between being a fucking burden and a goddamn hero.
Some say we can't find it.
Some claim it will come to us, if we keep working.
Some find it on the back of a brochure some fancy dressed lady leaves at your door, explaining why the good book is the way out of this god-forsaken place (pun intended).
Right now I find contempt in being a lost soul, trying to find the way between cigarette smoke and a blurred, alcohol-induced sense of well-being.
All I know is there's serendipity in writing these short-lived, scarcely read declarations of independence from a rented room out of somebody else's home.
Ain't life grand some say...
Fuck them.
Life is grand on those that don't need it.
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