Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.”- Rimbaud
“That day I went home soaking wet top to bottom. My hair was dripping water on the floor. My feet were smudging my foot prints in stains of mud that shall not remain as proof of my existence, but rather wash away as the world moves on and forgets about me while I die of lonesome and tiresome thinking only of that burden of a world. I did not care to close the door of the house behind me or take the keys out of the door, I stormed into my room grabbed a piece of paper and sat down on my desk.
