brokenpogo

I have been thinking allot, probably too much as it tends to be consistent with my consumption of coffee or booze, and the listening to of sad or melancholy music. I seem to have gotten old before I was ready, before my time. I have not traveled anywhere of my choosing with no other reason to go than "It seems like fun" in years. Everything is quite planned now, no youthful exuberance left to wanderlust me off to somewhere new. No longer can I hop the next northbound train to god knows where. Long have those days been in the past, yet when that steam whistle blows a note is plucked on my heartstrings resonating the final note of the ballad that played itself strong through my youth yet slowly, despondently, gently it died into this white noise wash of hollow feelings and unanswered questions. So here I sit with the weight of the world on the tip of my tongue, yet nothing to say.