Demented

I feel totally inadequate. Under utilized. Time goes by at a snail's pace. With each tick tock of the clock my restless soul screams for a breakaway.

An escapade.

Screaming bloody murder. Someone kill me. At least then I will have a direction.

Heaven or hell. Eternity in paradise or perish in the flames of purgatory.

I just don’t know what to do with myself. Just sitting here waiting for something to turn me on.

Like school children waiting for the recess bells. Like a fisherman’s wife waiting for her husband to return from sea. Like a cocoon waiting to bloom into a beautiful butterfly.

Time is like Art – intangible, mysterious but ultimately precious...
Glen Goei