I would love to have bread with my words. But what consciousness beckons from the lack of open eyes? My years are short and what do we permanently do but die? I arrange my thoughts into perspective of my darkness and wind my fears into a coil of temptations. These will not pass by the wall of superiority for they strain out those who believe they can have bread with their wine. If most of what they say is true, some who have made their own truth will give up at glance and climb the wall of steps to the permanency of life. They are aware of what they do on the other side; they cannot find a way down, so they jump.Other people with original truths will simply walk around it. Their only disadvantage is that they do not know what is on the other side. A fate in the cracks of the walls that is defined by a red paint. Their monsters are shred down to their ears so they become the bread with their words.