The Shadow Echoes

The shadow on the wall questions me,

Shows me the cat inside the box,

Conjuring light although it is just a silhouette.

I am this shadow, although I shape it.

Do I shape myself?

No, the sunshine does it.

I am this prisoner who chews a gum inside his head,

That was already chewed too many times but still has flavor.

My pen is a sun.

It has more depth than universality.

And even if I forget,

The dark room remains inhabited.

Does the outline define itself?

And the shadow is the extension of the pillar.

Without it, it isn’t so tall.

I live in the past, but no.

Chaotic but necessary is the room.

Always ahead, always behind.

The shadow is my life support.

The pen is my life support.

The blood that runs through my veins is writing ink.

Longevity forever!

Chaotic but necessary.

Chaotic but necessary.

Chaotic but necessary.

Chaotic but necessary.

Chaotic but necessary.

A vicious cycle.

We want the room we live in to live as long as we do,

Although it is only a theory that puts itself in front of the sun.

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