I won my first writing contest focused on time and the pain of writing. Perhaps it was a foreshadowing of sorts since I find putting words down so difficult now. I guess life is a cell, that once was part of you becomes an independent organ that is suspircious of your current motives. What sounded so brillian in my mind now appears clichs-ish and whiny.
So where does one go? Perhaps this is the last gasp of gibberish that some monkey can make into shakespeare. Most likely, its one of many toilet paper words that I am using to wipe my mind’d ass. It may seem productive,and relieving but end of the day, it’s still shit.
No can do. I cant give back the 30 seconds I just stole from you for reading this. EH HEY!
1 thought on “The Clock”