The Man with Idle Hands

How do you know the ways that this world feels about me, when no one is willing to talk without fear? I am just one who trusts no one, because I have no reason to be truthful. This is my philosophy to which a life is bound and has helped me to keep myself whole. A feeling that inspires me to write and prove what I am to the people I know.

I maybe idle in some aspects, but yet I know the meanings to which I write—nothing but the flashes of a long since dead notion that very few can understand. What does it mean not to act, when you know the path—when not knowing anything can be so much harder to withdraw with?