Monday, June 2, 2008


I spend hours exploring the plethora of emotions that encrypt the words from my mouth, and yet with this quill I can find myself in piece. And I can find peace in places where I can’t even think.

Why is it that I can tell the world everything that I haven't admitted to myself?

Why is it that with a lie of my hand on pad my non-coherent conscience suddenly comprehends the complexity of the human cohabitant condition?

Why do I write this?

Why is it that as I write this my mind enters nirvana and I reach a level calm Ghandi would gawk at?

Why is this?

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