A short, slightly unorthodox poem.
Each of These Lines, a Memory, a Shadowy Sillouette,
Of a person Lost, or Long-Forgotten.
Each of These Lines, a Thousand Ideas, each Brilliant in it's own way,
Teaming together to form a Consciousness, like fish to form a school.
Each of These Lines, a Presence, a Spirit,
Like a Flame, flickering, flaring, constantly changing.
Each of These Lines, a Slash in my own Damned skin,
A tear in the Facade that holds me together.
Each of These Many Lines, a Friend who has Left or Abandoned me,
For which I Cannot find Any Comparison.