The Ballads of Gravity

  I wish if I could break my heart lest it may bleed at least.  You are my chaos.  And you bear the traces and dust of it, you are happening to me  from the multitudes.  You have your burden, a yoke on your shoulder,  I shall set you free when I die,  but i am eternal!

Within the corridors of my mind, structural apartheid and nuanced radicalism intertwine, birthing the offspring of insatiable and undeniable desires of the flesh. You cannot evade my gaze, for I have evolved into an indomitable force capable of seizing your thoughts and channeling energy from the divine. What I penned years ago now unfolds in my life, as every writer becomes a prophet unto themselves. Yet, what I comprehend about myself is but a fraction of what remains shrouded in mystery. Striving for impeccable taste and discernment often transforms me into a caricature of narcissism and anarchy. My social constraints render me a frustrated child yearning for nourishment, while my silence echoes loudly, prompting contemplation on the temporal and spatial dimensions of the Holy Cross.