The time that has passed

Time has passed. A lot of it.

One dog left us last year. Another, this year.
He went out and never came. Almost like soldiers who go to war, leaving you neither here nor there.

A hero passed away. A hero in a way I am unable to explain or understand. Turns out he was a hero to more people than I would have ever imagined.
It makes me very sad. I feel small and insignificant to say anything more.

My stomach has given up on me. It burns and gives me false alarm of throwing up. Its most idiotic.

I feel most unsure on what I want and how I want it. But, I seem to have no time to think about it, and that does save me a lot of sanity.

I've grown addicted to chocolate. Its delicious, and hasn't attempted revenge in a while.

Time will pass. A lot more.

There is the present, the future and the deleted.
They can all be useful when they want to. No?

My mind speaks two sentences simultaneously.
Mixing them up. Allowing for neither to be understood.
No clear signal reaches any part of my body.

The head is a funny place. It takes a beating from the inside and the outside.
No thought is able to complete itself.
I wonder why my mouth won't shut down the same way.

I would like someone to go into my mind, clean out the mess and make it a better told for me to work with.

And, if you do a good job, my heart needs to be cleaned as well.

I lost my wallet today. It got stolen while I was on the bus. I lost every piece of identity I owned. Driving licence, pan card, bus pass.
When i realized it was gone, i felt myself disappear. Its strange that as anti-establishment as I would like to be, I also derive my entire identity from it.

But primarily, I am extremely angry. My temper continues to rise and become most harmful. I own a broken phone.

I'm on nobody's side, because nobody is on my side.
Quote. Unquote.

Even my self-pity is expressed in borrowed lines.

Truly, I am disappointing.

The toughest journey is the one that one is compelled to take inside oneself.
When I write that with even one bit of belief, I promise to stop, and take to chicken soup.

The toughest journey is in fact what it takes for me to move my neck, given that there seems to be a rod stuck between my back and my head, refusing to move or to be moved.

Speaking of not being moved, I'd like that. Especially with all the wars and the heat that seem to be increasing.

Life goes on. Or does it?
Boredom certainly does.