How much is the human soul, the contemporary mind suppose to be able to handle? There is much to view and think for and about and yet I always end up here. The road is not made of glass and I have yet to leave my stepping stones behind to find the so called beach. My feet are worn in like an old pair of shoes, and my legs are barely standing and my arms won't hold anymore than I am already despartely grabbing onto anything. My head is woozy from my ability to be able avoid the land of nod. I hold amative motives in my bed when I run through my passion to be what I want to be. I truly believe in order to become what you want you must sacrifice what you are and I am doing so.
I am very exhausted at the moment. Good Night
