Birds came flying from the underground...

As tired as I've ever been, and as determined as I ever remember being, I slowly pick up my pen and continue writing. I can't deny there have been so many moments, especially this month, when all I wanted to do, was throw it all away, and try to find something new. But the thing is, I'm far to deep, to ever dig myself out, so I'm really left with no other choice than to stay on my downward spiral, and maybe, just maybe I'll find myself emerged in a completely different world. I'm scared. I really am. And for the first time since I embarked on this journey, I'm doubting the path chosen, and considering the possibility that it might be time to let go. I lean on the people who call themselves my friends, and I hold my current obsession as tightly as I can, only to feel empty and yearning for more, for the life that only exists inside my mind. I guess I bare the curse no exorcism can banish, an illness too dire to cure - I am the boy given wings, yet no where to fly, the boy given a quest, but no reason to try.