I wonder at times what would happen if I were to suddenly die and someone found this journal, found my words.
I wonder whether they would even read it... would they find it interesting?
I bet they would think, "What an angry and cynical little boy this writer must be."

I guess that what I ay can be a little rough around the edges but that is only because life can be the same way. I look through my own words from years before to now and try to find exactly what I am trying to say. My words bounce around at times building up on each other or breaking down.
Is there a method to my madness or is it just ranting drifting around a smouldering fire?

Maybe when I am older I can look back and someone much wiser and well along in their years will understand and nod their head slowly in compassion for a twisted soul stumbling deaf, dumb, and blind in a world that cannot be understood and a universe that forgets to place flowers on your grave.


-Joshua Haynes