Arbitrary, The Road Never Looked So Inviting

This is the loss of youth.  The lousy, inevitable downfall towards that sharp black pinpoint. Our protagonist knows this line of sight well. Though, growth and grand schemes were the only order of the day. The weather was awful as he trudged through those sloppy fucking streets towards that nowhere. When a man loses his name, his hope, his will to continue, there is little to no recourse other than opting out and disappearing. Sleep was not an option any longer. Hell, I don't even think that poor bastard could tell what day it was half the time. His shoes were old, possibly half his age. And Vans can and will fall apart on you after too much wear and tear. They were practically molting off his feet as the rain grew deeper in the gutter. Twenty seven blocks to the EBT office, half a fifth of Buffalo Trace and no cigarettes... Look at the sun crashing into the earth.  Call bullshit if you like.  These rotting, boiling insides are all he has left to call his own.  Perhaps most of you wouldn't or couldn't understand his position. In the long run, I really don't think he gives a shit.  Live your lives, leave us alone.  His fingers are my fingers. His hands are far too crippled for a Thirty five year old.  It gets harder each day to bring about the needed inspiration to write even the simplest of passages.  The pills lost their luster years ago. The needle even earlier.  Cancer of the lungs, mouth and liver were worth at least a little comfort. The awareness that yes, death would eventually take us.  At least we can find solace in that knowledge.