i have promised to write so here i am.

could it be that i am residing in a system that offers only deja vu and cycles? that no matter where i go or how i turn, i will always be back at the point where i started out out from, defeated, winded, puzzled?

this is how the universe works after all, an illustrative example being cosmic explosions as both a consummate end and birthing point of life.

is there to be no escape but only in feigned ignorance, protracted obliviousness?

how are we to breathe free then?

tell me, are we born in chains?

do we drag our bound limbs over the course of existence?


locks keep me here and tied me there, my lungs struggle only to draw stagnant air.

progress is a promise made in paradise forged with the hottest fires of hell.


i see only my feet, the bones tough, tendons lax and still, the distance they cover turns out to be meaningless they will repeat, repeat the rhythm.