silverrevolver

Things are funny. I learned last night that my empoyment hangs by a thread. I stay up too late, I drink too much, smoke too much -- my busy mind lies awake contemplating the absurdity of my paranoia. It would seem I am walking the razor yet again. This time there will be no rescue, I will stand or fall by my own descions. There are still times I play victim; we cling to our justifications; I'm not sure why, they do no good. Change doesn't stop, everything happens to me at a breakneck pace. Ask me where or who I will be in six months, and I can offer you no more then an educated inferance. I again light my molotov cocktails and prepare to burn my neighborhood, my life, my friends to the ground. I think I am only happy when I am clearing the ashes and rebuilding.