I waited for the moment my insanity would cease,but it never did.
When is a moment in time separate from itself?
i waved away a disconsalate image,as if it were nothing.
Why is it necessary to read anything I have written? If it furthers humans intelligence,I am most honoured,but I doubt that is true.
i once wrote a fictitious analogy,then in reality it became my own corpse.
my ineptitude is my most fundamental weakness.
I ‘read’ her words(or thought I did so),but mine mean nothing. I have no concept of how she truly feels.
I have no understanding;so by that line of thought,how can another say that they do so?
an unbreathed thought,results in its own consequense.