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#chainsofcausation
Once a stranger, now a "mother" had given birth to a daughter — A daughter, unknown, untouched like a stranger — A stranger to the world and all that was known — All that was known was duplicated thereafter — Thereafter, duplicated by all those she encountered — Encountered by all those who had been duplicated — Duplicated in a world full of knowledge — Knowledge, that had been corrupted — Corrupted by those who had pretended in fear — Fear planted by the world and, mother and father — Father was so-and-so — So now, let’s be so-and-so — And so, on-and-on; the chain continues — Continues until another mother gives birth to a daughter — A daughter, gives birth to another daughter — Another daughter gives birth to another — Another, unknown, once a stranger —
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Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
vea-vents
Chains
Once a stranger, now a "mother" had given birth to a daughter — A daughter, unknown, untouched like a stranger — A stranger to the world and all that was known — All that was known was duplicated thereafter — Thereafter, duplicated by all those she encountered — Encountered by all those who had been duplicated — Duplicated in a world full of knowledge — Knowledge, that had been corrupted — Corrupted by those who had pretended in fear — Fear planted by the world and, mother and father — Father was so-and-so — So now, let’s be so-and-so — And so, on-and-on; the chain continues — Continues until another mother gives birth to a daughter — A daughter, gives birth to another daughter — Another daughter gives birth to another — Another, unknown, once a stranger —
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17
My past is like a stain that paints each new place, and face. A mind which seeks release and an essence that continues to cease. 'Tis a burden resting within my body, disallowing any newfound story. "Dusty dialogues, foggy monologues." Sentences strewn about and borrowed, without much doubt. Quotations so seemingly true, I resort to attaching myself to more than a few. Spirals in which I continue; imprisoned words I need to see through.
0
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
vea-vents
The Borrowed
My past is like a stain that paints each new place, and face. A mind which seeks release and an essence that continues to cease. 'Tis a burden resting within my body, disallowing any newfound story. "Dusty dialogues, foggy monologues." Sentences strewn about and borrowed, without much doubt. Quotations so seemingly true, I resort to attaching myself to more than a few. Spirals in which I continue; imprisoned words I need to see through.
Continue reading...
7