Some days I have nothing to say, while others, I’m exploding at the seams. Love isn’t quite useful as it once was, neither is kissing, its lost its appeal. Character building died out long ago after the giants built Stonehenge, they took it with them when they crossed over to the other side. We all have these faux giants in our lives but we don’t know the meaning of fear, not until we’ve been raped repeatedly by society. That moving, beating, cold judgmental heart is far more scary than bungee jumping. What about the mechanical smile of the stranger you passed on the way to buy a coffee, diabolical isn’t it? Forces you to turn around, paranoid there’s a hidden blade with your name on it that’ll slit your unsuspecting throat. But we push on, hands tucked deep in our pant pockets, shielding them from the bitter elements; we forgot our gloves. Or perhaps not. I’m surrounded by adults wearing kid gloves, everything petty in the hands of the mindless turns to fodder. Somehow, I can’t be the only person who has been tempted to give up on humanity because after all it’s already given up on us.