Who are you?
For I am,
and I am lonely.
It's a respite to have some company.
If only, from my crippling thoughts.
"I need not introduction,
for I don't have a purpose.
And a name, without a purpose,
is a mere appendage."
But, friend oh friend,
you're familiar, almost intimate,
like the faint scent of bare skin,
doused in nostalgia.
No matter,
for this late at night,
every soul feels familiar;
every wrong feels right.
"Ah, but that's where I was born.
The land of right and wrong.
I was fed the juicy fruit of actions,
but only the red,
the white wasn't aplenty,
its seeds never lasted long."
What an absurd land you come from!
Two colors, unmatched to feed on.
How does white exist without black?
"This land is between the gardens of heaven,
and you.
Where your actions take form,
the ground is cold, and air warm.
But, lonely soul, you see:
The truth is pain is red,
shadows seem black from the vision of the form,
but create red to the acquiescent heart.
and the absence of pain is white."
The world is black now,
white seems far away.
But wanderer, you travel without purpose.
Why visit me at this hour?
"I am here to stay.
For you are right this once,
We have much in common.
I am built on your actions,
I am a product of your black,
that gave many red.
When you try to see within your black,
you will find me.
Enough red, has given me blood to live on.
And from now forth,
we draw breath together.
Partners, bound by crime.
Your nostalgic friend,
who shares the scent of your skin.
I am you.
