Scared insignificantly by emotions running through the rivers of blood. Beyond recognition, afraid of darkness and enclosing embraces. Beyond self-help applications. Drifting in the right direction in the sea of letters, but a wave might at any time change the direction. Sadness of the reality which brings you coca cola in the morning along with you burnt toast. Frightened of standing alone to see the burden of life dawn, and set again. Taking control of destiny and moving forward, will that mean freedom or unknown chains? Shackles of boredom and never ending halfway truths that colour the page with bullshit. New depths on a new theory which has already been around the block ten thousand times. Believing is hard these days, at least beyond the next turn of the page. Truth is such a difficult thing, and knowing is even harder. To believe is impossible. Satisfaction in accepting the faith laid out is the only way to survive the cold showers that life hurls down. In the deepest corner, on the inside next to the gut, buried in a drawer, hope is still alive. It lays waiting for that one day which will see no more bloodstained skies.