That I will never really write anything meaningful.
That this is just a waste of time.
That I am insignificant and time doesn’t exist.
That my mind is a circling tornado of lost people
screaming into the void
asking to be remembered
begging to be forgotten.
That they wander endlessly in a world with no corners
nowhere to hide.
That they are triangulated into existence
not allowed to escape
not allowed to meet each other
to find solace.
That they will just wither away suddenly.