Something of a Vers Libre Rant.

Me? I'm two hundred and sixty pounds of fat muscle and bone. ligaments and nerves. emotions and freewill. six feet and three inches of longing and of hope that is bound to be lost I alone am no hero. but then again, alone, none of us are. solitude brings out the strength in only the mad the frantic the hopeless and the dead. strength lies not in the whispers of the dead. is there an after-life? is there a god? a heaven? a devil? a hell? a nirvana? a sanctuary in the clouds; the earth? i could die on the streets, as many are leave no impression on anyone where is god then? millions die. where is god now? so many christians; yet so few are christ-like. i see the hypocritical the sad the greedy the desperate the mad. I am one that longs for love yet at the same time i absolutely love the feeling of being sad above all other emotions. a rainy city, overcast and chilly everyday of every month of every year. an apartment, on the top floor. my future self staring out of the window with a glass of scotch a teenage alcoholic turned pseudo-celebrity. my job being listless and endless, just as my life. long and un-happy. this is not what i portray in my life to my friends to my love to my family they know nothing, only suspecting. And yet here i am, climbing the ladder to a happy little life. secretly longing for what so many scorn. loneliness is my blanket and my secure little life is my pillow. teenage alcoholic turned pseudo-celebrity.