Versemaker Technic & co.

Every day I want to write, but I don't. Too much has already been revealed. If I write, I will unleash more of it into the world. If I write, I'll want to share it with somebody else. I can't even hide it when talking to people. The weight of it is too much for me, and my mind is too feeble to comprehend half of it.

What I imagined felt all too real, and if there's any truth to it, we're in for a much darker fate than we all assume, with no escape. What can be said of our world if what I imagined is true and what can be said of it if it can unearth such images to an ordinary writer, dismissing the subject of their veracity? Since it came into my consciousness, all my emotions are shades of fear.

If I write, I might see it confirmed.