Excuse the tears that cloud my eyes and block my visions. Things that seemed simple, no longer pre-occupy my mind. Many of things are lost in the transfer. People are hated and dispised. Is it really their fault? Who's to blame? There is always a scapegoat. Someone to lynch and point fingers at.
It just that some people don't understand. Not everyone can see the same point of view. People can't always believe the story that their ears hear. THEY JUST DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT AND TRY TO ESCAPE. Maybe it's what they want to. Maybe they just don't care. (I personally think that it is the latter of the two.) All the same.
Stuck with a pad and a writing utensil, I forge on, because maybe it's for the better. (When am I going to see that though?) Onward I travel, never blaming, just contemplating. What now in this big game called live? What if I grow tired of it all? Why is it always me? The rules and paths just seem to keep growing. I bury my head in shame and in the heavy laughter. I choke on it a bit. I seem to spit up some, when I come up for a breath. I'm still clutching my pad and pen, hoping for a calmness to break so I my write. I guess that this makes a vacation shorter. The laughter so thick that I can no longer see land. I have to swim to keep myself alive. I struggle to float on top, hoping for a rescue... three days later realize that there is no one looking for me. My pad in my pocket starts to burn a hole. It needs to be fed. I take it out and feed it pages and pages of anger, hate, dispair. But the damn thing is still hungry. I then start to feed it songs of sorrow, lost loves and sadness. The pad stops burning my side. "Why does it stop?", I wonder. It wants me to learn a lesson and ask myself, "Is it really that bad?" I am all by myself with no one to bother me? My head has stopped hurting me. I've stopped spitting up. And soon, with time, I shall find land. Maybe, just maybe, I might find land, that I can call home.
Then again, I probably never will. I will float adrift for the rest of my lonesome life. Fallen victim to backlash and lay the center of jokes. I succumb to dehydration after a few days with land in sight. My pad will still float on though. My random ideas and jotted proverbs will eventually reach land. It will leave a message for others for many years to follow.