Look beyond those empty windows,
Find the swollen mirrors
Twist the tables
Do they spin inside themselves?
Look at the forgotten moon
Do you see it rot too?
Do you fear the system?
Do you fear it will tear apart,
The endless rhythms you've sought to create,
Only for ghosts to read those words?
Those words that bend in augmented illusions
And dissect their hearts
So that they are thick as flat glass,
Only for them to fit.
Sure, they fit-- but they also
Shatter in a million pieces,
That crack every second in every
Unimaginable dimension.
They have not yet realized, that the image it holds
Does not hold you for good.
Instead, its folds your reality
Till it becomes fantasy.
Those words written on empty pages,
They say, it speaks full of mysteries--
Mysteries that only talk nonsense,
Are you confused?
Does your mind dwell upon the reason
A reason that does not exist?
Or so, they thought.
And perhaps, there is no reason after all,
Perhaps the words,
Could, after all-- be pointless.
In the view of them, of course.
But the only thing that's pointless, is
The words they speak,
The words of empty meanings
The words of twisted walls
The words of the swollen mirrors
They speak.