This place, its walls, its words,
is like ice creeping in all around me.
Maybe for some, it's different,
maybe here they feel the fickle flames
of inspiration.
But my flames burn within,
and this place seeks to drown them
in the solid ice of redundancy,
formed by the love of idiosyncratic
details.
So I sit here and start a fire,
feeding it with self-made inspiration,
with all the power of my spirit,
so that I am not encased in ice.
I become a man lost in the woods
in the depths of winter's madness,
clinging to a single burning flame
just to survive the night.
And it lights the darkness,
illuminates the surroundings,
and I can make out the trees,
watching like the glowing muses of old.
But soon the sun will rise,
and show me the path home;
these walls will fall away,
and I will make my escape.
-Zero
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