I don't know anymore,
whether I can feel.
I don't know what's in store,
I wish it would just heal.
Darkness, encompassing me,
I can cry and cry,
But these eyes won't see
no matter how hard I try.
It's not outside but inside,
A little part of me is dead
How can I have pride
there's emptiness instead.
My life leans on an object,
depends on a stick,
Does it have any meaning?
It's death I'd rather pick.
An Obnoxious Introduction
- Space Gorilla
- My age, my name, my nationality, my ethnicity? I have a love-hate relationship with all of these things. Do they define me? Will they influence an opinion of me? I like to think, I enjoy good books, movies, art or anything really. I am an audiophile and a bibliophile, or so I like to think. I don't like hypocrisy and people who are too overbearing. Hopefully what I write will tell you more about me than this little box.
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