Running out to endless horizons to achieve nothing but a looping return to damned ideas and vicious circles. Tired, destroyed, reduced to a meaningless something that will never overcome empty thoughts and void opportunities. Running out but staying put while the warm breeze blows over us, ephemeral, passive, uninterested to what we say or mean. Burnt out, let down, blinded by the rage that crippled me into breadcrumbs, into paper waste, into the rejected ideas never considered. If I believed in tomorrow, would I be mistaken to skip an overpromised present which holds nothing dear, nothing beautiful? Would I be broken to the core, worn out to anonymous shreds by the fake and superficial forces of today simply because they omit, they ignore, the blissful that we could create?
It is funny to aim for a vision through self-interest, only to achieve perfect worlds with enslaved minds and hearts. Narrow-minded concepts proagate in the ether and simply stifle my running. Still here, probably, not seeing beyond it all, beyond the plastic stage, beyond the fake reassurances. Hey, the impression of moving forward can be riveting if only it were true. I am running out. Running out against the grain, against the idiotic laughs, against the me-too personalities, running out against the cheapness of it all. Until I have broken limbs and from then on no more.
