Itching, Scratching, Bleeding

..or maybe it’s just another version of loving, touching, squeezing?

Either way, I find it strange and somewhat humbling to learn that my universe is really smaller than the size of a basketball; that all we are rests comfortably on the skin of our brain, existing in tiny bursts, and brief bolts of energy – zipping to and fro, in seemingly random patterns that combine mysteriously to form our vivid sense of who we think we are.


‘I am that I am.
A is A.’

Itching to learn the truth.
Scratching at the surface.
Bleeding my way towards a shadow in the dark.

Notebooks filled with words that might never be brought to light.


We are all just scrambling in the dark, and it is sometimes a mountain to bear.

About Blabpipe

Rock Alternative Band for the Masses - Quite possibly the last Bastion of Hope left in the Galaxy
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