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"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things." -Henry David Thoreau

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We all grow weary

The daily grind. People say such flippantly. But it wears on us. Grind. Dulling the edge. Like gears without oil. And our performance drops. Then our enthusiasm wanes. Leading to more stress. GRIND. Along comes motivation. Acceptance of the mistakes. A revitalization. But to escape the beatdown. You must work three times as hard. grind.

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A need to be numb

There’s a point in the night
A choice to be made
Power through
Or give up the fight

When the time comes
The brain turns foggy
And hides distracting thoughts
Creativity flows

But hesitate
If you slow
The fog turns solid
Hit a wall

Pass out now
Or pass out then
Both a loss
Neither a win

There’s a point in the night
A choice to be made
Sacrifice the wee hours
And give up the day

Whatever decision
The clock ticks
The night comes
You fade away.