I'm so sick of everything. How people are people. How I suffer and others don't, how others suffer and I don't. I'm just sick of everything. It's like I've got a flu or something and I'm just sneezing out all this stuff; snot, disgusting things that I don't want to hear or see. And either I'm being too sensitive or I'm just a prick as a whole. What would be a good thing to do? If I just left today would it be any signifcance for anyone? If I just started walking. If I gathered up all my things in a small backpack and went through wooded trails, dirt roads, city streets, would anyone wonder where I was from or what I was doing? Would people think of me as a man or a lost boy? Am I capable of love or hate? Perhaps neither? Maybe I'm just nothing. And no one really cares about nothing. Nothing is a pretty strong word, because most things are made of something. But that's what I must be. A nothing, a nobody. I can't express myself normally, I can't fight my urges, or resist, or just think before I do something. It's all like a game that everyone plays, but I'm not a piece, or monopoly currency, or the board itself. I'm left out watching trying to figure out what I have to do. Well, I'm sick of everything and I just want to go away and sleep...wake up really early, and leave all of this behind me. To go and never see my friends or family, and I would go not to find others, but to be alone and be what I am: nothing. I'd just be some random person that we all see walking. We might wonder who they are, if they're capable of being human, of having traits like love; but at the end of the day we forget. We forget who those people are. We don't remember their faces, they don't have any impact on us, or anyone else. They just go with their backpack, down a sidewalk, up into a park, and through the woods, moving slowly, and with a will to find something of which we'll never know. That's who I'll be. And people might remember for a bit, but they will all forget. They will all live their lives with happy faces, full of life, the color of red from the wines they drink, and I will be nothing. Just a body going day to day, not thinking, not remembering, just a moving mass of muscle that only goes walking because it's the only function it knows. Advice, Advice, Advice. I give myself advice and I listen to no one. Perhaps I am a prick as a whole. And maybe I'm just tired and sad. Maybe, tired of being sad. I'll just sneeze all these thoughts into some nice soft tissue and I'll toss it away. And as it gently falls, I'll be relieved to have that unwanted stuff out of me.

-A