Untitled 1 (just some of my writing from my freshman year of high school)

[rowens]

The black hole, the toxins, the breath. They are the content. The idea and emotion are in the nothing in everything. The scenes everywhere and nowhere make a broken glass sense: but it's something the person reading it brings to it from far away. Broken reflections. I see that; but many people will see a flow of disconnected poetic attempts. There might be some immanating-adhesive to infect it all with one floorplan, and you could study it for that center.