I want my thoughts back. For the little voices between my ears to have my voice. Instead, I'm left to listen to someone I don't even know. Another era of self.
Maybe the rent on my soul is too high. The greedy land-lady too overbearing for the mutual good of the property.
Location. Location. Location! My gobal positioning systems seem to have died from exhaustion. Leaving me stranded here. At least until the right parts can be ordered for a 15 year old model in rough condition.
Maybe, one day, some far off radio station will play my song. We can dance then. Feet pounding the ground to the rythm of the soul-less hearts. Minds crubling into a sage oblivion. Or...maybe a rosemary one. The flavor of the moment happens to be tasteless. But that's what comes when you don't feed the animals.
I swear. I don't bite. Hard-ly.