I have not written and for good reason. The only things in my head at the moment are dull and mundane. It concerns me to be in such a place of creative draught. My sad states no longer inspire me either. So here I wait looking for a crack in reality to jump into a dream a revelation. Part of me wants to put it all behind me and say those were childish games. I guess the good news is I can't I have to hold onto the fragment of something other then this. The bad news is it tortures me in the meantime as I try to beat it back into submission.
Here's to the lonely dreamers, the misunderstood, the quiet ones, the loud ones, all of us really stuck in a world that is not sufficient.
