The Boat

The desert in watery terms, the boat is where I fight for my dignity, where I fight for my worth. The pain is muffled, the ruckus and cacophony of the heart is drowned, the feelings deadened. All one does is row.

This is the Boat. One rows or dies. This is the Arena on water. And I exalt in the pain and bitterness.

Desert

The desert, that stark landscape that molds the human, steels the heart and freezes the emotions. A place where warriors are made, where every minute is spent to grasp that bit of metal, like the breath one heaves for, the water one thirsts, that is the desert. One claws, one kills, one tramples over every other thing, it is the Darwinistic house.

There is no tomorrow. There is no love. There is only the sand.

I have enough of people lording over me. That is why I have no religion. I am my own master, of my own destiny. I am the Will.

That is why I walk alone.

Hunger Games

The trip fills me with hunger; hunger for food, constantly searching, searching for food; hunger for looks, that pitiful sidelong glances at that wretched, plain visage; hunger for acceptance, to be recognized as one belonging to that echelon; hunger for success, that miserable condition of downright and abject failure. I need that rowing, that shooting, that running, to fill my hunger, a void of insatiable spirits. I cannot have anyone hitchhiking. I need to do all these alone. This is my struggle.

The World

The truth is, I hate the world as much as the world hates me. It does not care for my existence, as much as I do not care for its own as well.

I have lost the sense of duty, and it's like being raped and left to die, without the ecstasy. You have no choice but to wait and limp over to the main road.

Intelligence

I am struck by my limited amount of intelligence, my copious amounts of stupidity that threatens to topple my sense of reality and life. This is compounded by the fact that I need to appear rational and orderly. All these run counter to my ideals of controlled chaos and whimsicality.

The image of the fellow using the rake leaves that sour taste in my mouth. The recent events have my seams stretched beyond the maximum, and it is but a matter of time. Yet my semblance of normality bluffs everyone. I am apparently human.

But for how long?

Stumped

A perceptive pupil asked me if I was happy with my life. I had no answer for him.

Soul wrench

I need to retain my soul in the stuff that I do...