A blank book.
A book without words.
That is me.
An empty book.
Whatever I did, I could not find myself.
Lost.
Forgotten.
I guess there is nothing to me after all.
Do not weep.
Do not mourn.
Do not cry for what has already been lost.
Hollow beyond the hardening shell.
A blank book.
A book without words.
That is me.
An empty book.
To force it back, back over the wall.
To turn back time.
Is such a thing even possible?
To change the way it goes.
To not accept what it brings.
What it brings is lost.
It's meaning gone.
It's now only a wall with no fortress to protect.
A blank book.
A book without words.
That is me.
An empty book.
Death.
It is what we are scared of.
Why?
Is it because we fear what comes afterward?
Do we fear that we have sinned?
Not we.
I don't fear it.
I am nothing.
A blank book.
A book without words.
That is me.
An empty book.
I know that I have sinned.
I know that there is no future for me.
But is there a past?
Can I live without living.
Can I die without death?
A beginning without an end.
I want to push it back.
But I am too scared to try.
