Dec 10, 2013
I know I am rusted metal scraping against sidewalks of forgotten cities. An unheard grown of a freezing pipe in a condemned building, I know, I know. Believe me, I know. I know my words vaporise and lose all meaning as they evacuate my mouth. I know that all the years spent, all the miles traveled, all the sleep lost, just time wasted. Time wasted. Like leaving a lamp burning in a room you're not using. A waste. What a horrible thing, time wasted. All the ravages of futility, inspirations annihilating back hand. At the end of the trail to find the pockets heavy with stones and fools gold, the ribs cracked from the last cheap shot and the heart hopelessly empty. What a waste.
Henry Rollins