I can’t seem to escape this desolation; a place my mind continues to take me. Again and again. I wither away, layers upon layers of nothing, I can’t breathe. I suffocate in the shadow of a nobody, a waste. My hands have become feeble and useless. Defected like a torn condom, for disaster surely follows my every move, failure lurks in the darkness of every corner of my life and I lay awake naked staring at the spinning motion of a ceiling fan, letting the air push its way around my body, and I can’t help but to be disgusted by my own weakness, it seeps from my pours and sticks to my soul, like warm spit on a popsicle stick, a reflection of my nakedness. Disgusted by what I truly am, an embryo of a man frail willed and selfish. I thirst. I thirst to drink deep from the waters of life, to become someone, to become something more than hopeless.