Starting, and fininshing then starting again. never erasing entirely, never letting go of what keeps me tamed. All for what? What is there to really show at the end of the day. Satisfaction in myself is somewhere else entirely imbedded in my own ego i see noone else. Its me who stops me from being complete. But the circles never envelop a new step its always a rush to end nothing worth starting again. Its my mind that i seek. Its the time to build that i reach. Its more reading and more writing. More letting my moral standards rise and fail. Then find a waste inline with another ones mind. I am not lonely with all the circles. Im only solemly in the air. Wishing that i could start to care about myself the way the world is treating me with grace. Am i a disgrace?