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Is there nothing? Isn't. 
Nothing can be achieved without its contrary. Inexistance demands it to be. 
Devoid in a thundering chasm, a fiery salient and write.

Write away, write till you erase what would be. Living in an age of recycling. Drawing the same lines our predecessors did, with no other curves, keeping the direction.

If you gave me an enormous line, and i continued it a bit, would I matter?

Fearesome in front of change. Stability and certainty... bastions upon which our minds rest, unable to cope with the system that... oh, damn... I got sure again.

I am afraid of not being alright. Devoid of all desire. Devoid in a thundering chasm, a fiery salient and read.

Read away, read till you fill in what wouldn't be. Dying in an age of renewing. Erasing other lines our successors would draw, many other curves, keeping the motion.

If I gave you my little drawing, and you'd close an eye, would I remain?

Brave in front of... wait. Fearsome in front of change. Instabilty, hut in which our minds... bodies workout. The system crashes and oh, damn... damn.

You are afraid of knowing me alright. Full of all desire to be happy. Full in a thundering feast, a frigid wasteland and

Is there nothing? Isn't.

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