...but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on.
When I believed I knew the soul was weak, when I believed I was prone to wishing, no longer do I believe, nor count faith amongst my vices- I can find no more use in perpetuating such folly. My design now is a grand scheme no greater than resignation, given to a fate, diminished to some destiny; though decidedly one out of my hands. No, my part lies elsewhere, alone in the interior, maybe in the depths of the un-quiet mind, maybe in the recesses of a black heart. A void anywhere else, but in my eyes and in my misgivings these are real promises. Perhaps now as I whisper I am dreaming, I realize now we are dying, and I see the finality of such a state -- even as it’s quite certain, if nothing else, that I am crazy. Even now it occurs to me -perhaps- I am wrong, though I guess that I am not; I’m never wrong when it comes to recognizing that familiar, unsettling, feeling which is the biased-arbiter, truth. Logic allows for only two ends, the truth -and it’s unsettling madness- or the quiet...