I am not so sure that i can die. My death to you, to me, could be, just opening my eyes to another day, and everything is fine.

Time, it is an illusion of the mind, a projection of consumption for compliance to the sights bent in the light.

We cannot all defy the odds every time, but we do, pulling through the worse yet, and still on top, yet we elect to thank invisible men, but its us, it is you, it is me, embracing a dominant reality, where your only consciousness can be.

Every moment looping infinitely through eternity, now if only i could be, where i was happy.