Lost and confused is the manner in which we carry, ourselves, the power in which we continue to forge mistakes and build lessons. When I am in the midst of navigating, my aspirations there is a sincere mark of legitimacy and how I wish to carry out my wildest fears. From comfort, there is literary bliss from despair there is, martyrdom and trauma, I stand between the two consistently. The pain you have when you feel short-handed is the pleasure of being unsure about where you are going. The most significant idea of all is we are carrying dreams heavier than us, richer than us, and even more concise than we may believe. I have an optional lust for failure and what it can bring me, if I choose the left path and the right to bow to my mistakes. I am leaving a lot to the pain, and little to the hope, these transgressions alone, make this all seem so complex but there is always a simpler route, a notice of knowledge I am aware of but not intensely interested in using. Sweating out, the addiction, the unmeasurable lead of misguided control. Calmly, before all of this becomes my own tale of ambiguity,I would rather you have a more solid sense of who I am, what you have seen/heard thus far is the detailing of a boy, and his amazement in his own talents, ability to nurture, mental abuse when his desire is not met and the last minute in a story of planning. What you have, in theory, soon after this post delivers itself to the respect of your attention is a soldier, contemplating jumping in front of the war, without holding the hands of his comrades, you know, sacrificing the whole again and leaving nothing left. I saw the rifle drawn on the other side, and well I am jumping in. Forgive me, those who I have hurt, misguided, trained to dissent me and love my former self. You are in me, and I have not forgotten you, I was always the dramatic one, well then this post makes most sense, right. goodmorning, a.j.t….