For all of you who may or may not care, I wish you to read these
words that I wish to give you. It matters not your reasons for
trying to understand these scribblings, but the fact you are
currently reading these words that I have spilled onto this piece
of paper with ink, comforts my heart, my soul. From a pen, this
does flow, that presses into the page, the pressure from the fingers
that play with the very curves of the words being created, words
from the person who writes sentences that come from the mind, the
spirit.
Like a ring that goes round and round, my thoughts do too.
All leading back to the same point, the same spot, the same
conclusion. Minor changes in the design of this ring, this train
of thought, have been noticed by myself and myself alone take note
of these differences, these difficulties that change with each
persons interpretation.
These conflicts mean nothing to me, for
the problem is still the same. My ring has not broken from the
heat of the fire. Only contorted is this perfect shape, this
circle, after it has been thrown into the flame that is an intensity
of our emotional distractions. This emotional combustion swallows
the comprehension that I have gained from hours upon hours of trauma
trying to push back the veils of the world.
Only those smoky
barriers that would allow me to escape remain unopened to my
continuing attempts to rid myself of another weighty burden that
rests lazily on my aching shoulders.
This smokescreen circles
round and round, like a ring, like my thoughts. Always changing,
just slightly, so only I can see the minute details that are
unimportant, or important. Again, this is determined by those
who interpret it.
I have been caught in the loop of my ring.
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