I am cynically sad and critically bad in a world gone mad. I am going nowhere and I don’t care when I get there. Nothing is relevant to the constant assail of my soul so frail. I reveal the way I feel not for mass appeal but to keep it on the real. What do I continue to pursue but a love that is true that will last past every test with zest. I wonder why I am pulled asunder from what I cherish until my will to live starts to perish. I am off to nowhere in specific. It could be the pacific Atlantic or traffic in Atlanta. I travel to unravel all the useless babble. I leave behind all the troubles of my mind. Companionless I venture for some simple pleasure. I dine alone as the TV channels I roam. Before dawn I wake to take in the rising sun’s glory. Story upon story I recount on my own. To this scenario I have always been prone. So with no one to share and no one to care , I plan another trip to nowhere.