What if i just kept going

I travelled halfway across the Aegeans just to watch the sun shine over the hills at the end. I crossed the Gotthard and went to check out the deepest hidden folds of Böhmen-Mähren, I walked the streets of Faro and wondered what in the fuck am i ever doing here. I saw all sorts of things. I stepped by the sandy streets out next through the narrow walkways and smelled the oceans. I went to Slovenia and saw their small castles and mossy garden walls. I saw Ireland in the foggy dew, and noticed a fighting people. I trekked half across Finland and Norway, felt a mindset i energetically respected. Almost never pregnant. I kept going. Bottomed up on liters of coffee and went South.
I walked the cliffs of Turkey and gazed Eastwards over the Anatola. Had Gyros and shook my head.
I said i'll go East.
I rocked with the russian soul. Drank though many nights and froze my ass off from babusha's wintery embrace. I stood half across the oceans. Put my foot, my very sole on the spot that marked the three borders. Took night trains through the snow. I never stopped rocking. My head nods every snare and drum. I put on a turban and fled through Kashmir. Almost got caught, then i entered the Bengals. i chilled with all sorts of armed men. Had a sliver of indochina.
Woke up in a romanian forest.
Back home in ancient Europe, i blew up. Threw their shit to the walls. I couldn't take their zombie speeches. Not anymore. Slovakia it was. Touched Czech from the fingertips then headed North.
In the end i will never stop rocking. But i just want to keep fucking going.
I'm on the run. I don't want it to ever catch up to me. How can i just keep running? Please help o wold, i want to never stop. Never stop at all.
Out of money. Already on the run from sobriety, I think that's clear by now. The road calls me, a deep addicted striving that pulls me. I walk it ever darkly, especially though. I feel the soul... sometimes. Hard to reach, tends to be hidden out back of a greek pizzeria's terrace court at night. Drunk.
Keep going.
How to fight? How to turn this tide? Every day i find a badly molochian world staring at me. It corrupts something. It leers at me -- Destroy the child. Corrupt them all. It growls... a part of me even likes it. But not the long-term part, not the real part, not the part that's true to myself. Not the part that's conducive to self-betterment. A deep nostalgia takes me. Ah, so typical, my ass is stuck between two chairs, LHP, RHP, and nothing real between. So irksome. I want to be real.
The devil is in the mountains of morocco. For sure. There are insane feasts happening out there. In the sense of epic transcendent celebrations of sorts. As cut off from the rest of the world. Indescribable. Back to the roots. The true old self of nature Earthy beyond reality. A green man. You should be careful who you talk to. My favourite color is black. I need to remember to cherish, to worship the night. To channel it. In its roaminess. As a Youth, a God, a stealing throughout the measures. Like a thief seizing the moment. Go.
I say everything and yet nothing. Like a breath that shapes. No flesh, no bones, so beside the point i'm pulling. Along the weeds akin to a raising. Alone and expected.
Every so-or-so, impatiently we are one.