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Maybe it’s just me, but I see words in a different way.
Too me, each word is world.
A world entirely unique, harvesting the most interesting of beings.
Some, brilliantly blissful and white.
Some, burning and thrashing with a darkening rage.
Some words are selfish, clawing for their own distinct worlds.
Some are selfless, growing in coalition with others similar.
Words are art.
Words are worlds.
Words are alive.
They feel, they live, they cry, and they lie.
They are merely the tools our minds harbor in order to manifest the most precise of ideas.
To convey the most exact of images, and the most accurate of sounds.
Some people just throw them around like garbage
Trashing their strife and spitting in their faces.
The faces of words who have clawed to get to the top.
To the faces of words who were born at the top.
Words are more than a simple collection of letters.
They are more than the complex integration of sounds and syllables.
They are alive.
Eating away at the pages that suppress their passion
Their life, Their drive, Their addictions.
Thrashing at themselves, they burn through the lips of many.
They scar the eyes of few.
They murder the ears of all of us.
Behind every word, behind the beautiful harboring eyes,
Is an idea.
An idea so powerful that it can’t be described in a single word.
In a single sentence.
In a single book.
In a single life.
Ideas use words like little wooden puppets to play the show of a lifetime.
To put on the feigning opera and the pretentious performance.
Each word, has many scars.
Each word has strings, tied to its neck hoisting it upwards
Controlled by the wicked fingertips of our minds.
Is a world.
Some, are dark and beautiful.
Some, are light and ignorant.
Some are unappreciated.
Some are simply,