Is it believed by me or one that controls me like a toy.
A scary thought.
To think that all that you are is, simply, nothing of your own?
To know that the words you write have been written before?
That before this you were once someone else?
I feel so small, the world compared.
Last night a nightmare so strange, so unique.
Is that what is solely mine?
Questions, said, thought,answered,wondered all done before.
So why do we continually ask them?
To make more progress.
A terrifying thought indeed.
Hope I do not fall too far in.
YOU ARE READING
Only Human After All
ПоэзияInk not blood surges through my veins . One hundred word each, and yet a new ideal for each. Questions about this will be answered. I also take prompts for this and other types of writing. (fanfiction included) Looking for a new way to get the idea...
