The Ruminations Are Mine, Let The World

Stories Heard But Not Recalled. Letters Too. Words Filling My Head. Fragmenting Like Artillery Shells. Shrapnel, Like Syllables, Flying Everywhere. Terrible Syllables. Sharp Cracked. Traveling At Murderous Speed. Tearing Through It All In A Very, Very Bad Inreparable Way.

I Must Read. I Must Read. I Must Read.

This Great Blue World Of Ours Is But A House Of Leaves, Moments Before The Wind.

Even The Brightest Magnesium Flare Can Do Little Against Such Dark Except Blind The Eyes Of The One Holding It. Thus One Craves What By Seeing One Has In Fact Not Seen.

Very Soon He Will Vanish Completely In The Wings Of His Own Wordless Stanza. [ ] But His Stanza Is Not Completely Empty [ * ]