The World is full of inhibitions
I cannot write
the world I see
for it cannot be true.
My vision is fractured;
it is nothing but a piece of glass—
nothing is no more.
Nothing is no longer natural—
to be nothing is sinful
here in the World that deceives
the truth stares at me
observer vis-à-vis alpha, omega, source—
Holy Ghost, if one wills
that the observer sees through with no notice
like mist on a sunny day
or a whisper behind blaring alarms.
This is the limit as per definition.
