I decide what to feed as you read.
This is a riddle I have made from the inspirations of the moment.
Sounds simple, don’t it?
I am looking at this thing, but not for long; I like them short and twice strong in cases they may get longer, doubly stronger if I linger.
Four corners inside four more and stores a great deal more for sure.
Four becomes eight and eight makes it later as stacks of greater numbers favor the flavor of my fervor.
Cold, like a slate and makes the greats flake if they take breaks or fakes all their aches.
An empty whole, plenty of room for a soul and the doom of the dull; stares them down like a bull with a frown till it’s full.
Fills with truth for the aged, fills youth with rage; the stage of nothing or everything saved in the staves of a sage.
Shovel your clout, disheveled by doubt; a shout from a lout who doesn’t know what they’re about, only devout to word count as they pout.
Quite white contrite, it sits still with lack; fight as you might until it will fill with black from the meat of your back. Beat with a torturous rack unless you’re on track.
It waits with your slack and as you pose for attack.
It’s a weight that lifts back; a plate full of snacks to relaxed insomniacs with sacks of tact or just the will to act.
This is a world of old or new; with things to do and ensue the true blue you into a slew of gold or glue to the view of eyes it’s exposed to.
It needs you to do what it was made to do; if not for you, for someone who gets paid to strew views or clues to crews due and it’s used for news too.
It can say anything with a zing or sing; surprise the wise if filled with truth or lies disguised in ties of words devised to try and get by like a magpie.
Shut them eyes; jut them thighs.
But time shall fly; a butt cramp nigh.
I’m open wide at one time and will die when you reply.
You may cry and sigh when you find that my face is dry.
This place and former empty space is why.
It’s been implied in full supply.
Pride aside, it’s question time and time to try.
Don’t be shy.
What am I?