Working to prove that anything I write is automatically worse than anything that makes me write it - compare with The Spider and the fly"



You spend your whole life with the world on the other side of an impermiable barrier, grasping at things through your tiny hole. Sometimes someone will come close enough that you can peer into their little hole, but all you see is their hands, trying to influence the world beyond. How can you ever know enough about someone, enough to risk never seeing their hole again? Sometimes all you've got is the hope that you can tear your way into their prison to escape yours. If that's all you've got, you're not risking anything; you've got nothing, you're just desparately hoping to be given something, everything. Its amazing how many people fail to realise how little they have, then the other hole vanishes and they think... whatever they want to think - and then they close their hole forever.

Then again, how many people ever realise they're all that stands between someone else and oblivion?



Also, shut up, I know it reeks of emo self-pitying garbage, but it was an exercise in forced production and I like to think it at least resulted in an interesting structure...