Do I care if someone reads this? Just a few words that I put together one night. A blog wrapped in a medium of stone age art. I spend my life building these structures, semi representation of my underlying self replicating a random style, theme, and form.
All this time of study on how to find rhyme, interlocked with philosophical quandaries and a self-reflection of my psychological state. Winding out long hidden feelings, sending it all out, like yelling out the window to see who actually turns.
Though, do I shout loud enough, or do I prefer whispering to myself? I wonder if I care if nobody reads this. We come into life, and leave it alone for a reason, our whole being is to be trapped behind our outward gaze. Madness is external, so is our precious vanity. Nobody cares, and everybody is a nobody, So who does?
If my eyes are the last to see these words, I ask what that means to me. I put this out to be read, but if it’s not do I care?