I cradle the thought of my soul deferring from my body, as if death were a newborn to be adored. as my efforts towards nurturing this ideal reach expiration, a broad emptiness conquers my internal being; and I fear I will drift through time unchanged. hear me, propellers are necessary in the water and legs on land- but I'm no ship, and I have ropes tying my born given feet to my hands.

gallery: all these options exploding before me, but none appealing enough to the man in charge of unclothing the corneas of my eyes. the portraits upon these walls scream at me, "choose I!" however, I've always been indecisive, and not favoritism friendly.
echoes: voices retreating to the corners of the cave in my brain, redundancy being its only capability. I've heard this before; I understand where you're coming from; but do you even acknowledge my perspective? being trapped inside this darkness, with your words shoveling themselves into my ears-- I'm bleeding; but the stream of red running from my lobes isn't visible, we only see black here.
yoyo: this string only goes up or down, and its in constant motion to maintain function. doesn't it get tired? sure, you might be entertained, but have you stopped to think what the ware you're tearing will do to it? persistent in unraveling me with no intention of fraying my thin string, but consequences result-- and its no one's fault, everything breaks eventually.