I want to buy you the world... but I don't have any money. 

I don't know what to do anymore. It's not ever in the sense that a man likes a woman. I'm near 30 and I still see everything as boys and girls. 

Am I so lonely? Are these tears or the toxic run-off of a chemical yawn factory?

Conflicted. Confused. I'm not unhappy, but I fail to feel a heavy foot reach the gas pedal, lurching myself forward like a lumbering ton of frothing metal. 

I don't know what I want out of life anymore. And I'm pretty sure life doesn't know what to do with me. I'm pretty sure I'm too smart for my own good, but dumb enough to have base instincts overtake me on the time to time. Fuck, I don't even know why I bother being cryptic when it's nothing that I'm actually talking about. Typing out bored words to blind eyes so I can alleviate this helplessness inside me that I never seem to understand. 

Do you understand, Braille-reader? 

It's at the bottom of longing that I've seem to start feeling again. Sifting through the disheveled shards of mismatched mirror fragments with tinier reflections of myself looking back like little time machines. This present is a gift that never quite fit right, I'd rather just exchange it for the money. 

I remember the mystery. There's no point to it anymore. Running down the trenches of half mumbles epiphanies just so this web can intersect another way. And maybe, just maybe, the circuitry on this motherboard will boot up and we'll all be full functioning parts of a great machine...

But fuck that. That's too simple. 

I remember the mystery and what it all felt like, wonder and bewilderment. Now it only feels like a headache and stomach full of bad food. 

Ambition. Who has time for it?

I spend my life with a head in the clouds looking back into the windows of the past.