My strings are cut. A force to reckon with, an invisible knife slices through what kept me above. Sixteen million years above the earth, I was on a cushioned cloud. There I looked around and saw my fellow brethren, all comfortable and mild. There, high in the heavens of Earth, we all shouted words of wisdom and laughter. We were all connected some how, a web of productivity, a web of socialization, and a web of health. These webs were stuck together by the adhesive persona we all radiate. They flowed with an eccentric, electric current that sparked the very life into everyone. The particles that flew within these strands inched their way into our bodies, reviving our long worn out bodies. Every one stood strong on these clouds, living their lives beyond their potential. Yet, as always, disaster struck, the common occurrence in these uncommon times. Just as I had begun to settle into my secure bed, I was forced out. Everything that had been happening to me turned out to be a glorious dream. Living a life without pain and chaos became the eternal freedom, and I woke to find myself living the harsh reality of an iron grip. Life as I had known it changed on me, taking on wicked forms of disturbing models. All I had been brought up into, every situation I held to be true was thrown away. I felt I was falling out of my bed. I believed that I had been violently woken from my blissful dream that I had rolled out. Now I was falling, further and further away from normality. As I fell down I rolled in mid air, so I could turn and see what I was falling away from. There above me, becoming a grain of salt in the endless sky was what I held dear to my life. Above me things I never believed to get back flew away from me. I began to realize it this way; I had not fallen; yet everything around me had risen. In my dream I was constantly rising, yet once I woke I stayed where I was, and watched all soar into the sky like a fearless eagle. I lost touch with all my friends for my web had been cut. Along with the clouds, I saw my body being torn away from me. As parts of my body slowly drifted off parts of my mind hopped on for the ride. Soon it seemed all I had left was my soul, and a handful of emotions. Hope, the raft I had floated across my entire life, sprung a leak. Desperation became the factor that drove my motions, and I started to trip. My mind tripped over itself, walking around in circles with two left feet, as it tried to figure out a solution to this rhetorical problem. I was confused when I had nothing to float on; I was scared when sinking became a foreseeable death. With no warning the river began to boil, churn and pick up pace. The air around me turned from breathable oxygen to a choking carbon dioxide. The raft slowed to a blind snail's pace, while the world around me never slowed down its marathon race. I could see that I was obviously loosing in the battle against the world. I found that as others went beyond me, soared higher and higher into the sky, that I was stuck on the side of the road, broken down car and broken down soul. Ever so often, a familiar face will pull to the shoulder, encourage me, pat me on the back, and keep me from driving off the cliff of sanity. Yet, they can drive on just as every one else, and I watch them drive off through a blurred vision. I see chances; I see hopes fly past me, truly UFOs in my atmosphere. I run out into the middle of the road, risking life and limb, just to flag down one of these spacecrafts. Though, forever alien to me, I want nothing more in life just to join. To be like every one else who had done these things. Unfortunately that is not the case, and that is just wishful thinking on a broken star. It seems I have run out of fingers and toes, I can no longer count how many times I've failed. It seems, that no super computer could calculate the number of times, and no human mind could fathom my failures. I wish more than anything, that for once, I could get close without feeling loss. The chances are ahead of me, puppets to a fate I will never fulfill. They dance madly, with joy and promise, and just as I get close their strings are pulled, and they are yanked away from my needy hands. I never thought it possible, to feel real pain in my heart from such a loss. I never had felt such a grip upon my heart, squeezing and ripping. I felt my air being stolen from my lungs, and I felt my heart shrivel up and cough. I have the feeling that this is only happening now because my heart is so tired from the wear and tear. This feeling is irony at its pure form since it seems I have no feelings left. Hurt, I fall to the ground and write a letter. I write to the only person I see responsible for this. I start of with anger, shouting out cries and unanswerable wishes. As I write, my shouts of anger turn to painful spasms of sobs. My tears fall to the ground, gather on the paper and mix with the red ink. My words take on a blood color, flowing from my wounded heart. I am hurt now, but as I always had always known I must accept these things. I must accept that I have lost. I must accept that I am different. As sad as it is, I find myself fighting two things, lose of health and lose of love. I begin to think to stop fighting these, and just give up. Just sit on the side of the road and watch as life passes me up. Watch as all my friends go flying by, in their custom made sports cars. I think for the time being, I will just sit, alone. I will put on that smile of mine, I will tells those jokes of mine, just to let everyone know I have not be defeated. I have run away from the battle, but not from the war. At such a young age I should not experience this, yet I feel I am no longer young. I feel as If I had grown to an old man, not so much wise, only more ignorant and bitter. I sense I will find a rocking chair to sit in, and rock away my problems. I will rock away on the side of the road until I find it necessary to join the group. I will remain in this chair, a broken doll, until someone comes to mend me, or until my mentality climbs out of the slump its in, and learns to fix me.