Meaning

None of these words, these sentences, that i write, make sense.
None of this has one general meaning.
Because it is only lines scraped onto shreds of life, by this grafite that I hold in my hand...

Right?

But no...
You can interpret them in any way you like, you think, and still, to no two persons will this sentence, this poem, this IDEA,
mean the same thing.
That is the beauty of words.