Writing is part of my collapse
The indescribable babble that is in my head
forming into little people and characters
that are stringed to all my wishes and desires.
They are my soldiers that I let other people
consume and devour during the imaginary war.

The morning deadens everything with cold and silence
It envelopes the grounds with mist and loneliness
It covers the tracks the people left behind.
One of the things that only the world can bring about.

Writing is the amazing structure that give people
like us the existence we desire to begin with
It is the reflection of the night sky into our lives
and into the homes of others.