dead end

in the years
that have past
in their slow-paced strides
and their hurried whispers
I find myself
alone
wondering
the validity
of said past years
and how they've managed
to get me here,
where I am,
where I'm seated,
almost permanently,
in the middle of nowhere,
in the stagnancy
and stillness,
the dead end
of my current situation.
and I ask
those past years,
what the
fuck
was your purpose?

August 26, 2005