Nothing I do now feels worth. The value of my previous post is an emotional sell-out. The need to write to express in order to obtain a clear and sound mind. To rid of emotions before the mind can be silenced. The mind has silenced. But the heart quivers for an unknown cause. I ask myself, "WHY?" But the answer is shortcoming. "You know." I wish to lay down in warmth, with sand (white), with arms, with smiles, in nude. The ecstasy of an idea, the reality through imagination. I take myself on a joy-ride in Fantasy Land. I close my eyes and start my own existence in my mind. I play God ("Forgive me if I had trespassed.")
