The Internet is like Outer Space in Inner Earth

Words are like war.
They give life, cleanse, and kill.
Letters are the warriors of the front line.
Whose ammo stains unquestionably from orders of the pen.

Words are like art.
They give life, cleanse, and kill.
The pages are the canvas,
unintentionally altered for other purposes.

Words are like water.
They give life, cleanse, and kill.
The binding is the rain clouds,
who have never met non-judgement.



Words are like Women.
They give life, cleanse, and kill.
Readers are the opposition,
who keep glory in short supply.

My blog is like the black hole, whose space knows no life.  No cleansing.  No honor of killing.  I am the warrior, the artist, the waterer, the life giver.  With no opposition.  With no thieves for my glory.  My glory knows no purpose; rendering it not so.  I am the plight of average, a lost star, in a vast space.

Words are like the internet, they can give life, cleanse, and kill.
The internet is like outer space in inner earth.
We can be lost there forever, anonymously missing where the whole world can find us.
The view is different, though.
Instead of seeing the whole, we're a microscopic piece within.
Just a piece within a large puzzle.
We know where we're at, but lost nonetheless.
And we rarely get to float.

And so we write.
As if we're lost in space, surrounded by darkness, knowing nothing.
Like the letters were our last.
We fight to wield the pen.
Even if it kill us.
Because words are like life.
They give life, cleanse, and kill.