The Voice

I believe: My outer self is a humanoid, a reflection of a person. It gets anxiety over miniature stuff, you know, things that never become disastrous. Yet I crumble as a human because I begin to believe my ego-voice.

Everyone hears The Voice.

It’s what keeps us tied to this crule world walking pavements of concrete with solid hearts. The Ego Voice that tells us we are useless, failing, falling. It tells us to hate, to hurt, to close up.

everyone hears the voice

Our crumbly nature causes all the ill will of the world. Yet each one of our person-shells contains a tiny glowing soul-self. Our inner self. Our galvanised greatness that most of us have disconnected with.

Our little self is floating, like an embryo cut off from the cord, bouncing around the womb, confused and scared, believing that we are indeed separated and separated forever.


I believe in the universe. I believe in ourselves.

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