Pages exploit me.
Users will use me.
Sun will watch me until nothing is left,
to watch.
People will ask me, "Why, where do you come from, misfavoured soul?"
I will tell them I come from the sea, where pebbles wash the surface and where glass is made into porcelain rock.
Rock ...
nobody rocks me to sleep, any longer.

I stand at the window.
I watch.
I leave.

Misguide.