And it is lost.
My poem.
Somewhere in depths of a cut and paste and short cut.
I tried to retrieve the little piece of inspiration
But it remains lost in the depths of chipwork.
Of wires and boards, with no feeling.
save one. of process.
I will now continue.
To create meaningless reams.
temporarily filling what is a hunger for self-satifying gloat.
to be wisps of smokes months later.
A ball of gas with no meaning.
meaningless reams.
I struggle within to understand a higher purpose.
And in that pain, I realise a truth
no one can understand your pain or suffering
it doesn't matter what you do.
You can shout it from the roof tops
and be swallowed by dust.
It will come to you.
As it did to me.
And then you will know.
