Paper Places

My morning has come and gone... there is only so much running one can do for the day before the weariness settles in for the kill. Over-tired, over-medicated, over-"clicked"... all destinations are blocked and "No Entry" appears to be the slogan for the day. I can feel the oh so, familiar feeling of my heart breaking, but I awoke with exhausted tear ducts... brittle clay now stains my cheeks. This isn't new terrain and all the proper stamps and seals are intact... proceed. Not with caution or at my own risk or certain peril... simply proceed. My chair is worn thin and the painted plastic of my mouse has been worn through.... crowned the king of shit, with no wisdom to utter and no strength to abide. It's a shame really... I went to sleep slightly encouraged. For a moment in time, I felt real and necessary... how swiftly my tormentors rip at the beating heart and smother the light swelling inside my soul. I have another appointment with one of my "paid for friends"... I'm not sure if I should laugh at that thought or smash my face into the wall. Is there really even a difference at this point... or just another bill?