What is this mind of mine? Do I even have a right to call it my own? As an organism I am original but my thoughts have no similar claim. No...those untamed creatures of the night do not belong to me. They came from the wilderness. They crept through open gates into a existence. Like a hungry dog they yelp for scraps of acknowledgement, that they might live in my murky recesses. Their struggle is futile. Every idea, every belief, however beautiful, however true, will eventually fall dead into the wispy dust. Nothing lives long in the desert.