All my life I have lived
next to oceans or mountains,
and at one time both.

I have lived with people
in these these places as well,
some of them beautiful
and some made terrible.

I see my bookshelf next to my door
and I hear the waves crashing with my
window open, but it seems to
mean nothing to me anymore.

I understand now that my
essential fallacy was in thinking
that me, being broken, could
somehow heal myself by
healing others.

The realization that my
entire way of looking at life
is entirely superfluous,
may be more than I
am willing to accept.

I go to bars with the
intention of putting
assumptions behind me,
of seeing people without
the judgements laid upon
me and without the judgements
I in turn lay upon them.

But  know that it means nothing,
that all of my writing and
all of my talk about God
and Morality and the search for
Truth is merely a cover, a charade.

All I have ever been looking for,
the only thing that I have ever really
wanted more than money or talent
or prestige or power, more than
anything...is for someone to
tell me that it will one day be ok.