It's early and I'm lying in bed. My blankets are twisted
like a catacomb around me. Each little fold in the rift a
different path I could take. Though there are no road
signs and no way for me to tell which path would make
me happy. And I'm sick of guessing.
I'm beginning to think that there are no right answers,
just as there are no correct morals. You cannot make
someone live the life you lead. It takes years to create
decay and to destroy your blood cells mixed in with mine
and I'm not sure I can wait any longer.
Now, I've just got to find a way to pass this drawn out time.
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