As I lay breathing the air that was not meant for me, I realize that I was not meant for this world.
I realize that this world was not meant for me. I take solace for granted on these days and wish for only the purest of molecules to wash away my sanctity. While I wear only a headdress on my bare body, I forge everything I dream into a tiny white capsule. On the outside of the capsule reads, "FREEMEN." With the movement of a magician the tiny white capsule disappears. My crown still rests upon my naked skull. A deep breath once more. The air that was not meant for me I ingest slowly as if there was only enough to last a mere few hours. The sky glows, vaguely uninterested in my deep thoughts of immorality. A gust of wind comes from under the earth. It has a sense of repeated emotional trauma. It burns. I feel as if I am immovable. I am not. My headdress remains undeterred. It is free. No equivocal amount of heat would melt this crown as its molecular structure has repented twice forth. My heart skips like an old Coltrane record. It will pass I tell my inner being. Hard rain begins to fall. Snow. I hear motocross. A laugh. I stand and shake the snow off my crown. And after a short lapse of reminding time, I continue down the path.
