Riding down an empty road.
Ears ringing, drowning in a sea of music.
Yesterday blurs into today for weeks at a time,
Opening the mind to confusion and disaster.
Urging the body to simply shut down .
Later turns into never, always working to no conclusion.
Inside these rancid memories lie some kind of truth.
Sour and bitter, everything moves onwards
To what ends will this experience slip to memory.
Envious, we chase what feels good
Never thinking past the consequences of feeling.
Independently searching for purpose.
Niave and foolish, trusting time and patience,
Getting older, hardened into a brittle molding.
