Hi Vince!

There are parts that fuel the run until my lungs rip in my chest, and bang with a tremendous force against its cage to be released. The insanity rushes through veins and arteries, faster, harder, muscles ache and quake. I swear I could throw up all my insides, intestines and all. There are parts that tremor with madness, the emotional overflow of frustration. But this is only part, only parts I leave on iron, on track, on sand, on hills. This part, this still unbelieving part, still frustrated, still lost, the part that still longs for times now long ago. Most of me knows, most of me believes in better, but I am no perfection. Still part lives in ignorance, still parts wants to grind my body to mush in a hope to crush the most. These parts are lonesome and evil. This is a confession of sorts, I suppose. Hey Vince, help me crush these parts before they crush the most, the whole. Confusion to most, I'm sure; clarity to some I believe. Thank you, Vbo, always part of the few, helping me as a whole.