The grip has got a hold of me again and it's the battle versus the elements of the past, the present, and the future all rolled up into one theme. In these crazy and fast times I can't even tell who's at the wheel of this speeding machine, with an engine fueled by the fires of hell and the fuel sponsored by the devil himself. In times like these, there is no room for needing more space and all that hopping around that seems so fictitious that it can't keep me in the loop as to what it is that is going on.
I only hope that this isn't the last resting place for yours truly. I am hoping that there are horizons ahead of us that we will have to walk to and I am thinking hopefully by the grace of that unknown god. We have finally reached a point where I am not sure of anything anymore It's gotten to that point where the fucking cars are speeding down the roads like lepers running away from each other with open arms. With their eyes closed. To make it completely legit. We would put coins over their eyes and call it a night.
That kind of goodnight that says nothing more than the people around us still speak of. Like its all about to end and it never does. Drunken hybrid whales fall silently down the sidewalks. Pummeling straight down the stairs. No return flight pattern. Trying to get ahold of my footing. Trying to let myself know that everything is going to be alright. The idle time that our idle hands keep watching slowly tick away. I forgot where I left my fucking watch. The bridges are collapsing on false ironies and I am drunk as all hell. One road has ended and somewhere down there on those points of perception is a new beginning and a new place. History is written by animals and re-interpreted by the insane beast like mammals flapping like fish out of the water. Can't breathe.
Every exhales is one less inhale and there's no way to catch up.