Can You Hear Me?

What in this world is right? What in this world makes sense? Hidden behind trapped boxes and walls. I want a roof made of the stars. I want to walk on a ground made out of clouds. I want a carpet of diamonds. I want to hold the sky in my hands. I want to see those things that cannot be seen. What is this thing we call 'time'? What locks us to this small world? I want to see. I want to know. Can you show me? Can you teach me? I will follow where you go. I will listen to what you speak. Where are you? Won't you come for me? This silence that drives my mind. This nothingness that envelops my life. What in this world isn't madness?





Can you hear me? Can you see this plea? Perhaps you do not think. But I am writing to you. Yes, to you. Perhaps I can, perhaps I cannot. But I do know one thing. I can write, spin words under my fingers. No one might ever see it, might never read it. But to have it written down, all of it, would it not be good? It must be lonley... Perhaps, perhaps. Would it do you some good? Would it hurt to try?


I am waiting.