My feet blackened

It has been ten moons since I last wrote from the darker dell. Many things have transpired but nothing changes. Luck, if it were a commodity I would buy some, but I would swiftly lose it in the car, the cushions, the backstreet alley I walk down to get to work. Luck is a lady they say, and I have long been unfortunate with most of those as well. I shiver in the disuse of my skills, shrivelling as I attempt to break out of the box that society has built around the productive people. Weirdos and circles need not apply, we don't fit. We lack focus and drive. We have the world in our sights, but the population is blind. I am stymied. I am shunted into pathways so labrythine that I may never emerge to reclaim that vital core. My sense of direction, long lost, has now returned but points in ways barricaded against escape. Is it worth the effort to raise the hammer once again? Is it worth it to knock on opportunities door before a frame has been planned? I know not. I am disconsolate and grey, my feet blackened by soured experience.