Where am I going? Isn't this the question that
filters into most of our minds? I have spent my

life questioning the borders erected around me.
The chains of conformity rusted with the blood

of the soul. Neighbourhood reflects the emptiness
of the heart. Fences define property and keep out

the unwanted. A dog is barking somewhere behind
the house, its high pitched voice drowning out the

solitude of being normal. There is an intensity in
the animal that it out of place in the manicured

lawns and much painted walls. Glistening skin
that is permeated with the refuse of a million

different commercials pushing forged versions of
acceptance upon an unthinking world. I scratch

my back wondering which cream will make me
look younger again. I no longer hear the dog so

I assume it has either been silenced or is dead.
Yet, maybe it is I who have died as I drink a

cup of liquid some commercial insisted I must
love. It's good to the last drop, or so I am