Fragile, like a balancing pillar of glass

fragile, like a pile of gun powder

fragile, in the sense of a sculpture made of gun powder.

The faintest breeze and it will crumble into the dirt and fall into overwhelming oblivion.

The slightest spark will cause an uproar of thought,

an explosion of emotion,

a blazing outpour of yelling and screaming to no one and nothing.

Followed by a silence,

that makes thoughts louder than words,

the thoughts that say the yelling and screaming wasn`t to no one and nothing,

but to me and myself.

Once a fragile sculpture,

now a pile of nothing,

surround by the explosion of self-destruction.

Though maybe,

just maybe,

there is a little more than nothing,

maybe there's me.