We're just passing through, merely biding our time until our lives slip through our gnarled old fingers, these self-inflicted scars disappearing in the sands with our soul because in the end we were never really here in the first place. we were never here. we are a blip, a mass of energy dissipated in a matter of moments, a flash in the pan, a twinkle of the eye, a prehistory lost in the passing of millennia, the minutiae of nothingness, a blink, an afterthought, a shallow stream evaporated in the first light of day. We are the unclassified the oversimplified the target market the failing demographic. We are all already dead, the untalented, the ugly, the wasted, the underused, making way for the new. we are the bleeding. We are the profusely complaining, the overfed. we are the holes. The empty. The vacant. carved out and hollow. Blankly staring. Echoes. Not ourselves. Not anyone.
http://pinterest.com/summerblythe/
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