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.
Existential rants.
