Filling the room.

You draw such fine lines on where to cross over to and where to stop where the cross marks that you don't see where the lines really brings you to. You wait for pictures to dissect themselves unwillingly and on many occasions when the pictures disjoints itself, you don't welcome it with open arms. You chase for what may seem to be of already thin wisps smoke but you aren't close enough to taste it, let alone inhale it.

I realised that all these lines of sentences here are just thoughts all sprawled in one that makes no connection at all and guess the best part here is that it doesn't even tangle together now. No it doesn't.

I feel dangerous.