Why man, why the consent of names? Why the power to place periods over endless things?

Why label words when you know nothing? We are prophets, theorists, dreamers, we are amalgams of sorts. Names grant us limits, boundaries. We not only play with our hands, we play with thoughts. We grope not for your judgment, yet we ask for your concern.

I have become reckless. I have fallen for foolish things, for irrational beliefs, yet those beliefs are my own. I embrace love like smoke in my lungs, cling to it like a mound of winter in my arms, and feed it like a leech in my bosom. Yet do not judge me, do not throng me with whispers, with insults. Do not clothe me with pity, for you do not see the inconspicuous grin on my face. I am better left broken, for I speak riddles while life ebbs from my wounds. I see the infinite aurora when the tears fog my eyes. I feel the cool whiff of clouds with chains clasp my ankles.

Do not lay a hand on me, for I will crumble to pieces. Do not smother me with names or I will defy your words. I am infinite as the halos of a spiral. I linger on because man is created without boundaries. Let mortality take me, yet let it not thwart me, for existence is as sweet as how much you can swallow, or how much your feet can carry you…