Questions In the Form of Circles

So far from the world that I sit upon nothing left but a cord keeping me tethered down persistent and eroding the nerves that still feel. What lies ahead seems much to far but the ghost of what was haunts the passenger seat like it is still reality. I was always taught to think ahead that is no easy feat when tomorrow never comes dawn never breaks these nightmares the clock ticks, and I age but the hands of time stay dorment life is a game of waiting. Patience is a virtue that I wasn't blessed with the only attribute I own is my memory gift or curse I cannot say. What keeps me here to waste away what is the purpose of my being the cliche question often comes to mind what is the meaning of life? I've been stripped of my crutches so I am forced to stagger onward along the dark path shaking hand barren of lantern to guide me only the fires of my dying will burn on. The seasons go on changing blistering heat and biting cold I don't bat an eye I've seen it all before this walking corpse will only breathe again when new goals set themselves alight. Often times I find myself staring at the burning mass of gasses I once called stars Wonders I was robbed of when adolecence faded away I wish for them to implode or crash upon us in hopes of release or relief I've already seen more pain than I wish to see. I dream that whatever is out there comes sooner than later for i grow weary of this shell and the tribulations that adorn it's span of life. Life a word I will never understand. I cling to my pen the only loyal friend I know. The cycle continues whether I do or not thats the beauty and torment of circles they have no beginnings and no ends.