Leaving something for the next generation is like writing your name on a foggy glass which disappears as the glass clears. It doesn't matter.
A while has transpired between then and now.
With my headphones on my head I'm moving forward, one day at a time.
In small squares of sticky paper, we write notes to ourselves, it's a private conversation deemed irrelevant with time and isn't that our existence?
This is what adult life is, right? A pigeonhole existence, and nomadic presence.
My old escapes are like secret passageways in and out of my brain.
There is nothing more miserable than seeing endless darkness even when there is light.
Finding inspiration is a tough thing to do.
Now that I have seen rock bottom, I am not afraid of it any more.
High walls are not meant to give the people living within them any comfort.