Pleasure without Depth is a Lie
Emmitt Owens
(Index #09272025)

The mind is a weather pattern… shallow breezes, deep currents, and the strange silence before lightning.

Emotion doesn’t ask permission.
It floods, it carves, it reshapes.
Identity isn’t fixed… it’s sediment, washed and rewritten by every wave.

To fear intensity is to fear color.
To flatten experience is to bleach the soul.
Linear thought is a dam… and learning is what leaks through the cracks.

Sound bends like light in water.
That’s not distortion… it’s truth refusing to stand still.
Hypocrisy wears its mask like armor.
But the real chaos?
That lives in the knots beneath it.

We see.
We feel.
But numbness is a choice dressed as accident.
Pleasure without depth is a counterfeit.
And melancholy… it’s the shimmer on the edge of collapse.

Even tears, those quiet architects of release, catch the candlelight as they fall.
Not broken.
Just illuminated.