A spiral winding towards no particular ending, i say. that is my life at this fair moment in the theory of time. Boundless, binding, beloved and boring into my being, as everlasting as a line, yet simply too short to last. Worry or worry not, for a thought is a drop in memory, one no less or more important in the greater scheme of things. Musical this, or monotonous that, time moves on, paced. Time waits not for you, nor me, it is the be, the when, the am, never seeming to truly matter until the moments flee. Fly like a bird, or fall like rain, needn't matter in the end. Fall down or up in spiral graphs in impossibilities, prove the laws false, even in the bitter-sweet end of all things. Trapped in a cage, only able to see from afar, barely, to not understand the people you see wonder idly by. Tell me this, answer that, reply to my caged queries in truth, or not, tell a lie, i shan't know until a moment afar. Laugh at me, or laugh at them, you know wisdom i could not know. Ignorance can be optimal, just not now, see from afar. False hope can be true, in ignorance, but it is no longer, for i have grown more feathers upon my ragged, broken wings. i could fly if i desired, but i am too afraid to. i wish not to hear the mocking of the mocking bird, hurt by the sound, dragged down to my isolation, 'tis what i know. Silence can be more agony than grating sound, in honest.