Visage
By Neurosine
Nothing flows, nothing goes, anywhere, but away, fading into the distance, before capture is possible. Passing onto the ether, from which everything came, where it's all the same, playing games, particle to particle... nothing's impossible. Truth is lie building on lie, until they make sense, actuality is nothing and anything, bundled into a passionate inclination, violence, at least, is action. Am I alive? How do I know? I broke out a window, picked up the glass, not minding the cuts, just marks to remember, how I painted the pieces, and arranged them into a visage, of something I could not explain. Written February 17th, 2002 © on Feb 17 2002 03:22 AM PST, Neurosine 0 • 10
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"Nothing flows,..."