You strike me as irreverent, adhered to your principals, behaving as they have told you to behave, out of fear, out of sorrow, but do you actually question your words? You strike me as incomplete, striving for completeness, when there is nothing to be found, but a passion to be bound from the freedom you can't find, do you distinguish fear from love? Stop your comparison, take a step back, make your vision blurry, what is reality? Is it your blindness that hurts or my blurred insight translated into happiness? You strike me as empty, trying to fill your world with words that adhere to the principle that rejects my passionate ways of not giving answers, but striving to provide examples made out of dust. Perhaps, my dusty ways will infuse your eyes with clarity, and you will stop that chase that takes you nowhere, but gives those who are as blind as you are the right state of mind that empties their words until they see the world as it really is, and not how they think it is. Setting the world in fire, a wrath of words, that sets them free as I am, and you wish you were by being who you think I am, but not who I really am unless you burn with them, killing me in the process, but not killing my essence because I don't depend on words to exist. Although, you might be afraid you will die with me. I need not to know, as you do, I need not to think, as you do, I need not to possess, as you do, so once and for all, let me go, love me so, let me go.