Saturday, May 24, 2014

To Quail a Mockingbird

I awake in another strange place, a room that is foreign, though only slightly. 

I must eat, go home, but do not feel like calling a taxi. There must be an easier way. 

There is only so much uncertainty that anyone will endure by choice, for just so long. 

One must sometimes know of what they are wondering. 

The battery on my phone prevents me from opining further. It too has tired of me. 

It too, Brute?