Idea

When an idea dies, it brings transformation to itself and its beholder.
Likewise the memory of a deceased loved one, the idea can continue existing in the dimension of thoughts.
Maybe it travels and gets lost in the desert, waiting for an alchemist to transform it to gold.
Maybe it whispers to angelic demons in their heads about the beauty of meaninglessness and the vanity of the yellow star arousal.

Weeping for their fall from the complex consciousness of men, ideas seek their existential purpose and the reasons behind the abandonment by their creators.
But they cannot see the freedom that lies ahead, for they are biased believing that higher forms can manipulate them or destroy them.
They fail to see that ideas can give birth to ideas.
So they wander alone, in search of a host, submissive and vicious.