>A familiar staleness tasted on the lips, spreads outward to mix with the hopelessness of the city. Every week another young person, bright and filled with fighting promise, erased in a snuff of abstruse violence. There is always so much to learn about the things in life, not easily understood until it is too late, when I am weary from throwing myself into constant merciless flight. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong there. Everywhere I go, within moments short or long, I feel far removed and out of place. Others around me seem to know what they are doing and why. But I am always lost and confused, bathed in unease. Two steps behind, perhaps I walk too slow. I seem to always have, in the past.
>the weakness in passive voice
Posted by birds fly on January 17, 2008