3 people, stranded on an island:
Me, Myself and I.
it was a small island, with only a forest and one tiny mountain,
the ocean surrounding pitch black, devouring bones and blood.
I kept still believing and breathing,
Myself not in the mood for pretending and deceiving,
Me had to give himself some meaning
to keep on surviving.
Myself went to distance himself
from the others,
he knows they hate him
for not agreeing with them,
he wanted to get off the island,
so he had to run away.
Me went of to hunt Myself,
could not tolerate something different in his system.
With hate and false vengeance.
Me wanted to get rid of Myself,
keep him prisoned;
keep him locked up;
keep his thoughts at bay.
He wanted to shut up I,
could not let I’s dreams interfere with his ideas.
Me went to build a city,
huge made of stone,
robust fragility,
declared I and Myself public enemy one.
I was still in the woods keeping his people,
and his dreams and wishes inside;
the woods were high enough,
the leaves big enough,
the wind doesn’t touch them;
nothing from outside the woods touch them.
They always want to get away,
live the times they want.
I breaks their being and preaches
‘It’s too dangerous out there, I have to save you.’
Myself still searched for a way of the hell hole,
tried everything,
left one thing he kept for the last
desperate moment.
Myself went by pumping Me up
and I perished with Myself.