(no subject)
thoughts always stray back, a commonality, the origin.
you are metaphorically correct, you can stand alone but you fight
an imaginary, you laugh til you cry and don't remember the punchline.
and immunity, a replica,
a quotient, a cure,
I exist with questions that merit no answers,
together is but a form of energy,
a blanket over the universe,
not an absence nor a presence,
but a portion of the truth.
if I pull myself back and end where I started,
you will fall away, infinitely;
a flaw is thus formed,
because my surroundings have changed,
I am alone in myself but not in existence,
there are no answers that merit my questions,
ourselves.
I once found comfort in a concept of nothing,
now I am just visiting this place.