- - NOWHERE - - is home. (draft?)

I feel I've heard close to over a million lies. So much so that I can't even describe it with cup, plate, or platter. It is more like a wasteland. So how do I proceed to discuss this then? As this turbulent wasteland just seems ever expanding. The ground seems to be chipping away, giving way to only the sky. And by some sort of miracle, I find myself floating into the atmosphere. Where others have fallen through into the center of the earth, I still float along. It reminds me so much of a paradox. One that is so simple, yet no amount of thought will lead you to a conclusion.
BURN! I JUST WANT EVERYTHING TO FIND AN END!
All of the lands combusted in flames that scorch even the might of the black woodsman. A funeral pyre built exclusively from some gods own design. I watch as everything becomes tinder, a foe for the engulfing flames. Ravaging everything until nothing stands, only but a lone rock. Not much of a rock either, it is a pebble at best. This pebble is but a shallow representation of its predestined past. No destruction can occur when it is thrown. For it is too small to even pick up. Not even the hands of a child could grasp this small misnomer. It is left, like dust, to be scattered through the ages, until even it leads an unsatisfactory end.

I never know whether to shed a tear for this endearing pebble. Maybe I should curse its existence, yet I yearn to leave my opinions at the door. In the end, the pebbles existence is cached, and eventually overwritten. No one truly understands its existence, or that it even existed in the first place.

So where do I draw the line?


- - NOWHERE - -

As such a line creates but a symbol of oppression, and thus an existential goal to be broken.