Stoicism rules impetuously and as resonating as a thunder clap, self-preservation long fallen through and this cocksure apathy has assured me I’m justified in standing idly by. Time pools around my ankles like melted crayons, each individual tainted to the same docile brown you’ll find reflected meager and muddy in my eyes. My perceptions are skewed, I’ve accepted it. Somewhat idiosyncratic but I’ve learned to love living in and among my restless thoughts and delusions and I might be lost without them after all. I still find myself surprised that people notice I exist but if they stopped could I continue to claim this as an existence? The Chicken or The Egg; I try not to give it too much thought but that’s laughable because despite the exhaustion weighing down my bones I can’t seem to satisfy the florescence permanently burning behind my eyes.