Nobody reads this blog…

Get up early. Throw something on. Crawl into the car. Getting there, only to slouch down the dreary grey halls to see the greyness mirrored on their faces. They are the ones half leaning against the wall, half lying on the floor; half dead, half awake. Like transients…no, less than that, barely functioning; only breathing. Waiting for someone to kick them in the balls to make sure there are still signs of life, and when there’s no response, they get chucked out into the cold abyss. Never seen. Never heard of. No recollection. Reflection; a fabrication that can only come from one’s self, from the soul, which can show one’s wretchedness or true beauty.

~ by metra.iv on 2006,10 October,2006.