I have always felt so small ..
A ignoble blob of mass produced ****
An unstriking felt of ignoreable mass
And a unloving yet existing demonicon

What is this being that within me resides
This parenchymatous growth of emotions
This feeling, perceiving but never believing
Mass of substance that I am, that I may be
Or may be not.

Just a small nothingness of some being
Incapable of making it out intoto

Small, meek, not dangerous piece of nothing.

What shall it matter if I lose my form?

What shall it matter if I lose myself ?

Death, disintegration, entropy !!

Whichever word may you give it,
nothing does ever matter in the end
nothing ever comes right off it ..

Nothing, and then black.

Pitch. Dark. Bleakness.