This is what I am , I think as I begin to put words to pattern. That I , that has caused so many problems and so little solutions. Wishing I could just carve it out of paper mache set it aflame and let the blame be on oxygen.  We are just poems, in the truth that we are temporary. You should not be scared but embrace the last place when you fell at peace. See the glistining horizon dance with shallow hues of pinks and golds. If i was greatness then this lull wouldn’t be so low. The shadows dance in the backgrounds and the inferno starts to cook my skin. Weaving between paradise in the para dime of disaster. Time drifts into the twilight and it spirals into perfect darkness, where not a sound is heard.  A cold, cold air. Senses fade and the piper is repaid.