Does it really matter?

This is supposed to be an introduction. But then again this isn't a novel or a book. Nor is it something which needs to be understood. It's supposed to be something to start with. To give you an idea of what I am, of what there is in store. But would it really matter? I am nobody you would know and still someone hidden deep within you. After all everybody is the same, we just do different things, and at times try real hard not to. See? I started rambling already. I'll just end this with a poem. The title being "Words".

Anger, hatred,

Love, fear,

Just words,

Impersonated,

To all that’s near,

A masquerade,

A disguise,

To rebate,

Unwise,

But selfish,

Yes,

The anguish,

To oppress,

True meaning,

True is it?

Or just demeaning,

Just a stitch,

Words are what?

Meaningless, naught,

We talk, we speak,

But we say, we mean?

Pure what once was,

Now adulterated, impure,

An incoherent dross,

What once was a cure.

'Til next time!
tchau ;)