Laurels are the sled at the mountain’s top. Rest too long your weary legs, and unawares you will find yourself at the bottom looking up.
Each path a life; the worn and barely used alike. The majority of your fellow travellers rarely, if ever, escape their guiding illusions, their paths crisscrossing the world, forming wide corridors and highways of frenzied activity, leading nowhere. They may have tread many more an empty mile than you, but in your stubbornness and reluctance […]
Spent a lifetime talking to that metaphorical wall, Beat my hands and head until they bled. Through streaming tears pleaded desperately, ‘WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?’ Spent a lifetime talking to that metaphorical wall, Until yesterday, When I chose to listen.