Who'll save him from being a man?
I like that street cause I can feel the leaves from the bushes on the curb. Just like when I was a boy, I run one of my hands all over them as I walk. Mind you, I was not as high as I am now on weed. I was high on life, though. Fearful like a squirrel in between of all those people. I'm still afraid, but for different reasons all together. Life seemed, well, larger than my known world. Today I fear how much I got left and how fast I keep living. Igniting myself at the slightest provocation. Seemingly attempting to intoxicate my surroundings and eventually burn out. It is not myself if I am not ablaze, I reckon. Out of control day in, day out. Spewing existential threads of thought.
This is why I want to test if someone can slow me down. I am running out of fuel. I can see the goal right ahead, but nothing is holding me by the hand. All I grab gets pulled with me and starts combusting rapidly. If it won't burn, I won't be working. My relationships, my family, my sex, my addictions, this text...
I am drunk in emotion, seeing how the roof above and walls around begin to crumble. Existence is a blur, everyone's shouts chirping in the distance. If I were only to trip, topple and stop to feel the sun. If it were the rays bathing, the insects walking on me, the grass and herbs dancing to the beat of my swollen heart. I could hear the waves calling me home deafeningly, asking me to ride on a white horse. Kidnapping for me to drown in the horizon.
