And here I sit talking to these 4 walls again. They don’t reply but they listen to me, they don’t sympathize but they listen to me, they don’t know I exist yet they stand and listen to me.
I stare at this plastered concrete, so dead yet standing strong, serving a purpose. Me, I’m alive, so, I think therefore I am. What am I then? A fetid heap of conflicting ideologies. My thoughts distilled into a vial and there lies my poison. Gulp it down and crawl through another day, but it’s a new day, right?With the same old song and dance, with the same sun burning bright, with the same heart worn and tired.