It is so strange to not...be writing so much.
A block.
Ridiculous emotional sentiments that are unwanted.

Concerning myself with things that have no concern, no meaning, no sense of anything to do with me...and yet, I include myself...

So strange.
More than ever I just feel like a stranger looking out from the eyes of a body, of a soul, of a person who isn't me...

I ask...I wonder...

Is this my smile?
Is that my voice speaking?
Are these my hands that shake from pain and stress?

Being alive, having life itself is a miracle...
But I am not other boys...other...men, dare I say.
I don't look at women as cattle.
Things to own, brand, use, consume and destroy.
Life has meaning.
All life.
Even when I am confused and hurting.

Which is why I must pray.
Not to try and move God.
But that maybe, finally, I can be moved out of this vacuum, this void of pain.