firebeing

neitzche looked into the abyss and the abyss looked back. he was a distraught soul who took himslef too seriously and inspired vows of silence in people who wanted to be fighter pilots who then found out they were colour blind and swore blindly at the sun in absolute agony and utter pain. the gain having been lost in the entire journey of remorse from the car to the cliff edge of sanity which was situated some distance from the road.

and he cried and he cried for a lifelong dream that was lost forever, he cried for a self that needed to find itself once again. he cried for the agitation running in his veins. he cried for the suppressed words never uttered to a dying grandparent who was stoned on the Heavy Stuff. He cried and cried and cried and cried.

Then he stopped. he had to. The tears dried up and all that was left were ripping sobs tearing up his throat. he stopped the tears and soon the sobbng stopped. and he was empty. he was just being. he was devoid. he was placid without the world inside him, yet the corners of his existence began to crumple as a piece of paper crumples before a flame when the fire of reality licks it, and he knew that soon the world would burn him up all over again.