I try to be realistic but my usual tendencies are an unsettled medley of mis-shape; my quiet thoughts are missing. The emptiness inside is inevitable. My friends are gone. What friends?
My thoughts are dying. They watch me instead of listening to me. It’s because I am like like the wind – picking up the leaves off the ground in an aimless wonder only to release them again. They are half/dead zombies staring at me from within, waiting for me but no longer involved.