fire.

Andrew Wood. Oh dear.


**********************************

Life has been like a gaping hole on a heart, unwilling, unsettling, unprotected. Events shook its core deep, and now it is left with an empty shell, waiting for the rightful chance to make it right.

Hours and hours of sitting down on my brightly lit laptop typing this post, and not once had I ever settled myself on a topic to write about. The unchanging sands of time has taken over me, and I have been slave for these past few years. No more does time wait for me; I wait for time, because it only reflects my own wrongdoing when I do not.

The curtains are unfolding. My life is like a cinema, a plethora of audience watching me burn and cry and scream and yell and laugh. Perhaps I have been very open about my personal life; people have started poking it with an olive stick, and then douse me with cold fire. The breaths of many humans are gathering itself to become one single life form, the one that kills you with a whisper of his word and a stroke of its fingertips on a streaky keyboard. No life lessons have prepared me for this. No mundane television shows have taught me this. No one in particular, warned me for this.

For I am now officially in a writer's block, and I am running in circles.