I think my brain is already suffering from alcohol-induced memory loss. Either that or I never really had sharp thinking faculties to begin with. What a sad after thought. But I guess there's more sadness out in the world than what my pathetic excuse for a thinker's brain can accommodate.
It's funny to think about inspiration and positivity, when one's grasp of the self is slipping during every quarter life-crisis-influenced second.
Power and possibility? My tattoo is laughing darkly in my face.
Maybe those colored birds with clipped wings being bombarded by camera flashes and unmindful tourists are having a better time than me.
To be, and to never become. What a sad afterthought.
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