Staring at a blank slate; reaching out for nothing, expecting nothing, wanting nothing, but cycling through the process consistently and obsessively in an attempt to avoid any kind of forward motion. I wish I could tell you why, but I'm unaware of the motivation. I don't want help; I don't want to move. The act of physical combat is the only thing that remotely excites me enough to leave my quarters day in and day out. Stereotypical enough to laugh at the concept that the only temporary relief to this weight is the adrenaline rush from having the life choked from your body. Get me on the road, so I can live again.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
