The world is in motion.
It never seems to sit still for very long.
When I do happen to find a spot to stop, there is always this dreaded looming fear that stuff is happening and I am not part of it.
Life passing by as I breath.
Is it life?
Or is it just a fantasy of life.
The lie that I buy into because there is somewhere else I need to get too, something else I need to accomplish.
At its basest point, it does boil down to this internal, infernal need.
As if by not fulfilling that primal lust I will be left empty.
Stressed if I do, stressed if I don’t.
Caught in between the waning and the wont.
Pulled to rest, pulled to go.
Life is short, scream YOLO.
Such a lie that that is, bought and sold on the unfulfilled promises that there is something more out there that you just have to discover.
To be fulfilled, you have to find it.
The voices rise in a cacophony tumultuous tense, more phony then tense.
In the middle.