THE WAYNEFRAME

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Fragment 1

I'm taking tiny steps in the prints of giants. Don't look like much, but it's everything at least from my perspective.

I ride to work at sunrise and return by sunset. What goes on in between don't matter to me. It's just part of life's rhythm.

I can tell you why I move but I can't tell you how. The fire in my soul isn't burning now, but it glows. I make sure that it glows.

So now I keep on keeping on. I just don't see any other way, but to keep on keeping on. How else will I survive the day?

I'm repeating every formula so that it makes sense. A task so repetitious, but what can I do? It's the same thing I'd do elsewhere.

Time's a precious drop that's extracted from me. There's only so much, then soon I am drained, like the folks who came before.

These walls around me form a shell to protect my helpless sludge from all the vicious people who'd hate what I'll become.

The butterfly they wanted was never to be born, and until I grow elytra in here I weather the storm.

When I emerge I'll be reviled. They'll call it a mistake, but these horns were made for lifting and I am no devil's child.

One day maybe I'll see the sun and drink the sap of life, but still right now my shell's too soft so in here I'll have my fun.