I reach for the end of no words, but I can never find.
The inner spaces constrict my tongue, like a python dropping on a deer trying to run
Peeking around the corners of the darkness with of message of confused empty fulfillment, that would surely tell us nothing.
Every dead end haunts me, and all the empty people flaunt me.
With their know it all's and their planted falls making mockery that's created to doubt me.
Swimming in the inside for a shore from way before with empty reason to find the lost wisdom door.
To many doors is this the one from before?
Am I lost in some confusion or melancholy metaphor.
The points lost in the shuffle of times multifaceted shores.
Not supposed to be found?
I'm not so sure.
There's no instruction book.
I'd probably throw it on the floor.
The way it all blends together, feels like I'm the one left to hold da door!