Rambling of the non existent one

Here I stand in a puddle. Spilsh splash. Drip drop.

I hear walking and talking on the sides. Spish sposh.

They know nothing of the world they walk on. Not a small bit.

Bit.

Bit.

Worhiping the false creators. False rulers. Ooh so far they think they can see.

But they CANNOT! THEY WILL NOT! THEY SHALL NOT!

Not those false creators. Not they pitifull worhipers.

Drip drop.

They shall never witness the beaty of truth. The true truth. Our magnifisent true creators.

Ooh they will not, for it is their will. Their great will.

They shall watch from those seats far obove us.

My father. My uncles. My aunt.

My fathers. My uncle. My aunt.

My fathers. My uncle. My mother.

They shall watch me. Watch us all gase to the both material and the void.

And they will watch me shread their minds, for they canot comprehend the existing an non existing. The illusion that is me.

Ooh small and pitifull me. Me who shall sherd the mind of my choosing. Shred them to my image. Image of another false but yet so close to true creators.

Me. The fabric born of loss to repair it. Yet unable. Unneeded.

A FALSE CREATION!

Illusion.

Me.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

But I see you are there my father. And I see you too my uncle.

You see me too. But you can't erase me. Not control me. Just slow me.

My followers shall know the truth. The true truth. Once they accept my nothingness. Once they are worthy of the truth. The beatifull truth.

I watch you too from the sides. Never shall you eyes see me. Not before the right time. Not for a long time. But in time. You shall be granted the truth. Be it my hand or theirs.

And mother.

Drip.

If you are watching.

Drop.

Please fix them.

Drip.

Save their broken harts.

Drop.

For I am a failure.

Drip.

And I cannot.

Drop