While watching water race off a windshield a display of death disturbed my crying mind. A day not dipped in enthusiam, gloomed by questioning depression. A need to find peace to cure, to help and to inspire, eats that alive. Which originally establishes inspiration. A violent weakening rot subsiding in the throats, clotting the eyes of hopefuly, go getter optimists.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I guess I am crazy. This once made perfect sense.

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