I sea.

Lately, the words just having been coming out it seems. I mean, I try to sit down and really collect my thoughts but there's nothing to relay. It's not that I feel bad about it by any means, it's just the absence of any real substance. I wonder if this is truly better. I suppose I feel alright, to a certain degree. But at what point is it better to just live and let die? A wound can only fester for so long. Infection takes hold eventually. I tried listening to old recordings and it only brought confusion and regret. Why does reflection always cause future reluctance? I rely on so much these days, just to keep the anchor tight. There's no movement tonight, though the storm rages on. My battle between the sea and it's vastness. I'm overrun by the barnacles... I'm waiting for the next safe passage across, but I'm fresh out of tokens.