this was a poem that sort of just happened while I was talking to someone. at least...I think its a poem... Him: there's wisdom in sharp things solace beauty Me: reflection distortion Him: escape from the moment Me: in a moment that doesn't exist like you want it to but for a moment...you can fool yourself Him: for a few glorious seconds your troubles disappear Me: and then the light shifts, and all you see is grey Him: all the hate, anger, channeled and slipping away Me: cold, unfeeling steel replaces your precious illusion Him: or your hated reality Me: its all cold in the end cold, grey, and sharp enough to cut you if you aren't careful Him: isn't that the point? Me: no its the edge Him: and edge you can't see to drive away all the things you see all too clearly hate, anger, depression, jealousy, fear, self-loathing, it can all disapear for a few precious seconds Me: until you rotate around to the other side...then all you've got is another illusion or the sins and emotions you worked so hard to suppress Him: aye, the demons return soon enough the question all boils down to are the few precious minutes worth all the hassle? Me: only so long as you can guage the distance between yourself an the edge Him: why do you need to guage the distance? Me: so you don't get cut Him: but my dear fellow that's the entire point Me: getting cut's the point? Him: i think we've been talking about two different things this entire time... and that was the end.