Living at the height of my expectations in the here and now, finding new assurances in the midst of trembling notions of ambitious hindrance. Nothing allows my steps to pause. Even a water break catapults my mental prosperity, zip-lining my physical being to tie in this race. Then there's that whisper. That faint voice in the center of my frontal lobe, encouraging ego, hyping the id to homicide in the name of pride. My eyes wide like, staring bright, like focused on that prize. So much so that it's more than a destination. It's my final resting place and I dare not die til I get there; yet, time is waning, so I must quicken my steps, double my duties, fill every millimeter of air with substance. Make the greatest high seem like withdrawal, I... I gotta keep going. Earlier rising, later settling, out-book the library, like get in there and don't ever pull out. Viagra for creativity so the pursuit never goes limp, who wanna see what I'm about?? Humble offerings of egocentric sentiments to add humanitarian to the reputation just so they can say, "he's gonna go far some day." Soon is what they forgot to add cause the id has zero patience, and will force its statement at the expense of its own existence. Then where would I be? I get tired, but the whisper keeps haunting me. I'm feeling tired, and I'm losing interest. But that damn whisper, so tantalizing, paradoxically energizing, never rests. So onward and upward, in spite of, because that's the business...
Donnell E. Smith