Tuesday, 11 January 2011
When you’re locked in your own head, I’m free to roam the green, green grass. Or wherever I want to be. Constraint is what you live for, for you do not know any other way, or chose to ignore.
When you’re locked in your own head, I’ll look through your window, and laugh.
If crying is a sign of weakness, than I am undoubtedly weak, and so are the people of the world. When your tears are frozen, and your eyes hurt, and your hands tremble, and your head ache, unbearably, you’ll wish you could sob, weep, cry. Just like me.
Just like the rest of the world.
The world is cold, but I can be colder.
But I’m not proud of that, unlike you. You strive knowing that you’re distant, you’re condescending, you’re cold. I do not. I live better, and happier, outside the igloo that was once my home.
I hope your ego will devour you whole, someday.