An existence brought forth through a person's beautiful writing
The depiction takes form in the mind's eye. A form of many souls
Yet, there is but only one. Elusive, comforting
You who reads about it. Imagine it, tell me about it. Your roles
The mystery comes from the pages. Who is the one talking?
One tries to write while the other tries to speak
Paper stocking
For it is a talkative week
Is it strange to have your whole life recorded? Your thoughts, your movements
Even the way you speak, see, and are. Both physically and mentally
Being tangible and yet forever out of reach. It tries to make improvements
You are seen by millions and none at the same time. They gaze sentimentally
How can you tell them that you are there?
You speak with no noise and are bound to what they interpret
Your true self it's just as malleable as their views. They only stare
Sometimes colorful, sometimes black and white. Sometimes not even something to misinterpret
You are placed in an infinite loop of being reborn and killed in different minds
Young, old, newborn, unborn, male, female, both, none. Anything and everything
Each time, you live all existences at once. Just to appeal to all kinds
If it were for you, how would you write and paint yourself? It doesn't matter, plaything
You are not sure anymore. Of what you are and not. If it stays blank, do you truly exist?
Do you even have a will of your own? A shape, a mind, you are beyond all things fathomable
Life exists only when it is said to do so. Everything and nothing happens as you are inked in the midst
No true self, a noise in the ink that is shaped for the deaf. You are unfathomable
YOU ARE READING
Memory Fragments
FantasyWARNING: CONTAINS VERY EXPLICIT CONTENT. Sooner or later, we all crumble beneath our fears. It's up to us to recall what makes us human and stand strong against adversity. Memories, shattered and scattered throughout our lives, come to us one by one.
