An Parculiar Thing

  • I am particularly deep like a black hole, only I swallow myself completely deeper and depper into a pull that disturbs nothing else above me. We are the one, but I, am invisibly to the eyes, and I, am me. I sit and never talk, i always hear the words that are spoken and within myself, radiate the thoughts that are best unspoken. I walk around and see the world, I experiance the pain and suffering and scars. Why is it i can't blow away in the wind with the leaves and trash, is it because I deserve to suffer through hardships that are easily broken apart with a one action, to show the materials were mearly nothing more but remnants practically or plain paper. Why do i share this cage and be unable to live free, beuase in reality I'm made out of no more than boiling tar and ash, unable to light a flame insine of myself to understand, or show. I would distroy everything in my wake, and at the end with nothing left I would finally have piece.