Gather the scarred bones of your memories
Press, grind them down into a fine powder-
Then scatter those ashes into the ocean of your subconscious.
They're still there, maybe. Floating and sinking, infinitesimal bits.
But how could a bit harm us
≡
Rend me asunder
Dash our skulls upon the rocks,
Scatter our brains
Let our thoughts be food for the gulls
My wounds are slow to heal and even the small ones leave scars
♡
Take a moment to contemplate upon the saying:
If everyone is special, that means no one is
I've always found it rather peculiar. It comes off to me as incomplete, yet it is this incomplete form that has been engraved upon countless hearts, as if it were gospel.
Gospel? To me, it reads as blasphemy - a cruel perversion of the truth found in the rightly completed saying:
If everyone is special, that means no one is better than the other.