there are times of our lives where we come to a pristine standstill.

where everything we though was true, has become a pile of rubble upon the floor at which we sit and stare at clueless,

incomprehendable measures of our favorite songs become the blank lyrical compositions of our abysmall ideas of nothingness,

it comes to the point where everything, means nothing,

where everything doesnt matter,

why lend the hand of affections, when all that is returned is nothing.

just a stare of disconent measures of unacceptable metaphores which in the end lead to nothing in particular.

where the time comes where you dream of the wind past your face from a falling building,

the image of happiness the end of everything as you know it in sight,

so you understand,

and dont have to worry about the elastic means of the universe.

where nothing is predicatble,

ever.

please let these ideas fleet from my mind and let me sleep while i still have myself.

before I have gone away, and everything is gone.

stay away from me.

leave me to myself, so nothing but myself is wrong in the world.

please, stay away from me.