Sleeping under the stars without a care in the world is the most depressing, empty feeling a man could have. Looking around at these other creatures of the shadows and it is clear that one who is I does not belong, but neither do these lost souls who have forgotten the purpose that betrayed the hope the once lived. When you have nothing to offer your fellow man, what can you give yourself?

There are dreams in the dark of a sober night when memories visit. There is a man doing good deeds, knowing the path of rightness, helping to clear the way for his fellow feeblers. There were warm feelings of promise filling the time between ecstasy and despair.

The thought offer hope and promise, but how can one allow themselves to believe. One man making a difference, is there any bigger joke. Then the pain. Forget the hope, the pain is real, debilitating, agonizing. The few drinks from a bottle, any bottle, and the brain shuts down, the pain is pushed. Screw hope, just stop the piercing pain.

Good? Would? Should? If this is tomorrow, let it end now, but like the shadow chasers who hold out for a hope beyond reason, we take another day. Somehow we hold out an unrecognizable hope.

One more drink and the pain will go too far away for my numb brain to notice.

This what it means to not be a burden?