So here I am. I throw my life to strangers with pure honesty because I know no other way. I wish my life could be be better but owning up to my own mistsakes won’t allow better things to happen. This is isn’t pity; it is the realization of a life, guilded, but wasted. I avoid Hemingway because he had so much more of a life before consindering my constant thought. I need a reason. I need a goal. In my sheer arrogance I can’t find it… I have the opposite means… clean and quick… But as it stands I am still content being miserable, being human… being alive.
This entry was posted on March 13, 2010 by Baron S. Cameron. It was filed under Straight from The Bear's loud mouth (insane ramblings disguised as social commentary) .