It’s funny how when nothing matters the focus can wonder…
I thought so long about the world within a word, I didn’t realize it was within it the whole time…
And the hole can be such an uneven thing; swallowing up all (everything) that dares to get near, or peer within, without a fear...
And to just jump in without a care…
to turn back time and relive again, or a consciousness that settles upon a thin lit mind that tries and tries, but can never look in, for if it did it would go blind to a reality that never even treated it kindly to begin with anyway.
So death creeps in, from within…
But the gathering, who's so far down in the blackest of black layers, finds it can’t go down any further.
It’s fabric has gathered such a mass that no more thoughts can get passed the openings grasp and so the whole begins to pop, like a bubble whose air has stopped, and deflates back out and in with all the flaws that turned out not to be flaws at all, for all the folds get stretched flat and rejoins everything...
‘Everything?!
Hey!
That’s actually me.’
And so it goes on until another hole is found to go down, but not to worry you see…