I write to you,

to me, 

because I cannot seem to form coherent thoughts

...

thoughtless

my pen touches the paper

but leaves no trace of what it was yesterday.

I am made up of so many small things

and so many big things,

what are they?

Ramblings

Musings

Emotions

Feelings

Sensations

Hapless dreams that turn to nightmares

stave off the darkness that has found respite within my bones.

I will waste away

until I return to the form from which all life stems

Energy

Light

A being of which I cannot describe

I am life

So in turn

I must die.