The frustration of walking upon this path we set so carefully up, of tiny sticks and string for the longest minute I have ever felt, is unbearable to Bare. Like Baring the harsh cold ocean or the tundra where life does not see for miles; I am dragged. Where the occupance of life is the same as the traveler. My knees shake and my hands bleed, as my mind wanders - frozen steel of my lungs send shivers over my skin as they touch when I stray. alive at last the mendacity of existence Propaganda like the hope I build, like our statues or our path IT TASTES SO fu*kING DISGUSTING, like sand in my lungs or salt in my eyes, Without relief or any sign of help in this barren f**ing sea. IT TASTES SO fu*kING DISGUSTING, and it is here, where the rain still falls, where the sun still soaks, the sharks still swim, the waves still crash, the air still stains your lungs;