goodnight-xx

"There's a storm front on my back." All seems quiet this dull night; the only thing, which seems to be loud is the frequent sounds of my fingertips clashing against the keyboard. It sounds of the frequent chatter of those that linger the streets, conversation, which are most likely of little importance and meaningless. The only lights that illuminate this room, is that of this artificially lit computer screen and that of the dim street lights, which filter in through the blinds of my windows. My tongue is saturated with the bitter taste of smoke and the only thing that quenches such a taste is nothing that can be seen in this room. It's qui

Who has my heart? Surely not me. Does she have it? I am not to know, And neither does she. Let's keep it quiet, Between you and me. For I do not have my heart, But does she?

What is to see, but the shadows dancing between the lights? Metaphorically and religiously speaking are we just not shadows? In such a metaphorical sense, our lights could be considered as the ones who do good in this putrid society; where the rest of just linger in-between the podiums of 'good' and 'evil'. Religiously speaking, light can be considered as god. We are his shadows; shadows of creation, where some in society willingly remain loyal to the concept of his existence. So, if we're just shadows dancing, what are we trying to prove to society; we are merely brilliant dancers? Or just the acts of apathy? Must we dance? For I wish to