On Wanderlust.

(and what it means to me)



I have an angst about me that's withstood the test of adolescence...

An air of mystery that's just as much a part of me as my skin and teeth

An overwhelming urge to create and destroy and create again

                                  Because the destruction of something is a creation of its own

I have a ravenous desire to experience things which I've not tread with before

I hate knowing

Knowing is a conquest that breeds complacency

It's the tainted remnants of what was once intoxicatingly foreign


So I keep moving

Drifting further into the unchartered and enigmatic depths of all that's been and all that is to come

To things I perceive only when my lids are closed and I've put my brain to sleep

Drifting until the sublime monster inside of me is unleashed and free to wander