Sierra

I must write. 

These words are proof of my

existence. 

Evidence that I felt,

that I was not just another

blank faced,

shiny eyed,

career driven, 

cold hearted, 

slave of industry.

These words are not just a string of letters and spaces, 

but expression of a 

tortured soul, 

unsaid thoughts, 

and the boredom that nips at my mind,

stuck in a time in my life where nobody thinks

I can think for myself.

At least I think I can.

I must write.