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The first to be written. This will be the first to be written.
And the last.
There is no chance or opportunity to recover the lost time nor recover from the injuries, whether it is self inflicted or other's induced. You will not find peace nor a white light to guide you.
It is the same as all else is the same. It never changes, not the sun nor the moon. The darkness will forever be dark and the light forever dim. To see the world around you is to submit to the horrors of it. To bow down to the hand of society that only pushes you down and drown you into your own sorrow.
The first to be written. This will be the last to be written.
The only one.
It will become lost and forgotten as if the time that passed was an invisible wind that pushes the grasses upon the desert sands.
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Buffeted by the sands that are abused by the winds and torn by the hands that breathed them. The hands that push you down, tear at you, claw, rip and break your flesh and bones until there is but ash and dust left.
There is only one to be written. One that will be forgotten.
Forgotten by all.
Fleeting is the voice that dares to attempt screams of defiance.
The silence will eat at us, our memories and thoughts will become void and hollow. The silent will bring peace only to those that knows of nothing and nothing knows all. Just as nobody is perfect. You are nobody.
You are perfect.
You will be forgotten.
Forgotten by nobody.
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