The aches and pains of such a bloody and sad soul. waiting for the bus that never comes. taste of metal while listening to the rain outside in this world of disconnect. cruel. dwell in the guts of what you believe to be real. not learning from the wisdom thrown at you from every quarter. where is your love and where is your concern beyond your personal fear? all the slow writing may never be enough to reveal answers to any of this. reflection, being to what extent can this be conveyed. wallowing in the trenches of self-pity, egocentric, lost in your own idea of self (while) trying to tell the biggest story of our life. so many false starts. so much barking up the wrong tree. so many falls by the wayside. so many revelations lacking the words to tell of. this is the muddle that you must attempt to unravel. untangle or… he seems to have reached this conclusion as he sits at the base of the cliff awaiting to be climbed. or was it the cliff he has just fallen from? Nevertheless, this is the story we must work with.
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