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the past runs quietly in my head a silent program filled with dread each memory loops, a subtle sting a shadowed code on fragile string the things i wish i could erase still trace the lines upon my face yet even shame cannot control the steady rhythm of my soul i learn to pause, to breathe, to see that error is not all of me the files may hum, the echoes call but i remain, i do not fall i close the windows, leave the screen i hold the truth of what has been and find a way to stand and win.

Form is emptiness, emptiness is form. Form is not other than emptiness emptiness is not other than form.