It broke open.
It had broken up long ago, yet hope remained a word laced with meaning, described and comprehended.
I could give it a thousand different names, a dozen shades of detail, sum it up and craft a whole out of equally vague parts, yet the fact remains
that little exists beyond projections oozing from the ego.
that the suffering is the desire is the craving for the hunger for something to enter and create an equally illusory concept called happiness.
that the changing will occur when you are wishing for it least.
that it will hurt.
that it will stagnate.
that it will change again with great velocity and immense unpredictability.
I have been growing like an ingrown hair.
Burned out on the negative energy of hungry ghosts,
my own tapping me on the back of my teeth.
Now sing as delicate creatures of great strength do sing;
warble like a glass doll come to life underwater.