you're always alone in fall after all death is a personal endeavor forever wading in the river Styx for carnivorous fish to come feast on flesh fixed in place until nothing remains until nothing is left but a mess your stain on existence

a spectacle for sure an embarrassment endured for far too long now unknown like purple clouds against nighttime skies too hard to see through its own disguise it's there that this feeling exists reminding our partial tool that it hates itself for being deep any time it feels deep she, he, them, it, you, me, us, we replace, ignore, transcend deplore the meaning of every other word said now or before each one a figure treated as crown just the defining ground, outline of clown running struck by gravity of his own thoughts and now fall endless and nameless through tracks hidden from consumers like balls of hard tissue fueled by what's inside of you growing riddled with the disease we deem life and now define an extension of meaning outdated as soon as it blazes relevant to topics at hand messages transmitted quicker than fingers in sockets and even faster than that they're lost through time at the immense cost of communicating thought again lost, lost again attachment at every turn a fire that burns on private energy leached from the young still unstung by wasps of the region who teach truth as it is not just a rotting resemblance of respect to whatever never gave a fuck about whatevers outside an image vintage in now a paradox in knee high socks always more real in fact than you think yourself, than I think mine so that we are the facade divided within and without, among and against cracking between links of being and thinking of acting and observing again sitting here hating myself for thinking that I am real when I FEEL real still clueless don't know what's the deal I'm left proof reading every sentence so that no consequence is left simple like writing rough drafts I wanna peel off my face destroy my mask show you who I am but can't every effort I feel gets me closer to the truth is just an obstacle propelling me further away from who? my philosophy haunts me constantly

Emptiness fills my vision As numbness starts to set in Terrified but trapped inside The shell that I've become Comfort is the only Thing worth running from

not all seeds need to be planted eternal imprints taken for granted because instructions aren't always evident when industry is hell bent on production turn a blind eye to evil minds and even in the center of such a mess age old attempts at doing what's best preserve an art long before it's dead not all trees die when uprooted transplant what's been stomped flat between pages of information immune to dust stuffed on shelves behind closed doors just waiting for another reason to score yet another impact of sorts resulting in beautifully arranged decor slowing a deranged core nonstop orgy of advice flowing from a face enticed by the weight of its own gushing memories draining itself in the melting of wax of a candle fueling its own combustion no longer holding tears back to confirm the act of becoming but instead being the flame, the candle and the wax

fantasy, just an homage of sorts to an influence whose impact on me was absurd it was eastern in part careless in rest a man who drank himself to death caffeine and sugar for me no nicotine though I don't believe I've chosen my poisons all that diligently strive not drink my liver obsolete ironically enough the source of his book for me was a friend of mine whose hometown, I found to look like none other as Joey would claim but I feel it as real as you wouldn't the same all in all I realized today these lyrics have become pseudo-cliche the simplicity I seek is reflected in the way I speak through paper and pen and mind through what I spend time being, pursuing songs for the sake of singing along and aloud to all or none enjoying and feeling the idea of bus station poetry is most appealing

drawing from blanks, from this draw turned mini-lake for our village's sake still reflecting an almost full moon like vanity mirrors exposing life to all of its own beauty between crisp air no flow, heavy though heavy with premonitions of precipitation forming to the west is an ocean in the sky draining beaches dry on the other side east, where only sands lie waiting waiting where the gradient between two extremes is everything where articulate brush strokes are the background to backgrounds below a silhouette of being reaching for the moisture above in the atmosphere lifting away from the surface flying through every sphere until getting trapped up there where the gradient between two extremes is everything ghostly apparitions in groups of four stallions charging from hell arched for holy wars against the storm forming opposite of them imaginary dreamscapes in waking states secreting nightly secrets in shades of pink, violet and grey over rolling fields of green sprinkled with specks of yellow, of blue of wings whirling around before seasons end to freeze motion until it finally thaws again free to wither within routine within cycles, rotations, habits to watch DNA spiral a flow inside of flows as a strand of hair plucked from mountaintops fading into the abyss that always is connecting vast bodies to their molecular structures to the explosive forces forcing splits before impact bleeds lights final minutes across the great expanse all of this while the canopy grows and withstanding the splash inevitably snuffs the glow and swallows the sun whole

the fabric of the universe is information it's being formed its creator is its creation fractals paint a vivid representation of the recursive contemplation that exists in and of itself try to visualize it helps release the self from its diseased cell that Huxley can tell you all about through his deceptive doors the force by which men are held fast to their own holy wars alone until we start to think why we float and never sink in the sea that links everything the web that connects dialect to the things language can't transcend i'm trying to build a bridge between the realm of forms and the social norms that exist in our material world longing to unfurl this train of thought illuminated by a moon that sought only to birth beauty from rot, decay and neglegence reminding me of my forgetfulness and ignorance to the fact that i've died before and will die again to be infinitely born back into this spiral with no end

it's not my shadow I fear but the ripples I tear through the surface of these calm waters faltering under my own current sure it's an enemy after me and the pride I hide from the self left more deprived by acts committed at the hand in command of executive demands witness the transience that exists within sprawled across the sky scattered is the mind that fits such a map delusional is the man who seeks out a graph to help stitch himself back for our imprint on existence look no further than the constellations where we banned ourselves to a life of ignorance long before the dawn of knowledge then look to the moon wearing its worrisome expression reminisce remnants of an impending doom an early autumn in mind reminds me that I am just a vessel of reflection existing as a loop of perception breathing life into the driftwood of such infinite seas preaching to the trees that fall silent when no one is around that they too exist regardless of a sound fall to moist grounds wet with anticipation validation of their own character qualities they only see when I become them I this tool this mirror this energy this

submersed in light constellations flow from structures born deep within souls unknown staggering along this fractal's edge i am found lost within revelations of death scarred by peaks i crawl into the cave clawing at ether and mind the same follow this dream back to its source snuff out its flame and dispose of the corpse i hear rivers all around but i do not know where they will lead me unless i conquer my fear

the storm penetrated what was once an impermeable field of metaphor and soaked it to the core at least it tried but the center was left dry it was there that this mistress painted her map on a table planning her attack I saw through her trap it was you facing her, but it opened to me within the light colored chalk her nails carved to see something pointing to an eye in the middle little and dark she sought to embark on a quest into the I within U demanding that the path be shown I refused and let my fury grow and glow blasting my wrath from across the table proving to her that I was willing and able to defend my sanctuary until its end it was then that her face melted away no longer able to mask her disgusting form hideous and pale she disappeared as I left my body for freedom in air I tried not to care but was too alarmed when I witnessed my corpse lying still with folded arms on the same desk as before not knowing what it meant I swam towards the floor it was easier to fly than to return I struggled and strained to not be burned by the consequences of my alleviation even though spirit suffered from starvation I clung to a body not ready for release and was planted inside of one that was dreaming it was a dormant self, neglected for something else but I realized it was me and woke from my sleep to the same seen that ended my dream

let there be no fear in the release of attachment celestial secrets have no bounds but bodies being human are not allowed they're far too finite to fly right through space emptiness is the preference of energies aspiring for weightlessness oh, what a curse to be forever again regardless of a captain's control it's time now for abandonment so let the stars above pierce our hull let the ships below finally capsize and be fed to starving rip tides when wet wings are clipped when warrants permit organic matter decay relief will no longer abstain but become fuel for the route from seed to shake, flower to fruit

class dismissed "wait a minute," she said but it was too late it's impossible to undismiss this uninterested clique an exercise in addition "I'd like to read a short story" intrigued we listened to what we could from a book taken out from beneath a desk and within a single breath Canterbury evolved mastered zen "Your subconscious is a 4000 page book..." four 1000 pages of suspense tales interrupted by screaming walls rattled by barking dogs coyotes pierce the veil snap out of the vision for the burial

forge of all origins always a lie breath filth out of this undead spite wet the hero who enables no thing until choking becomes the sword held high into battles before functions are normal whatever that means cough forth the stitches for those who need an excuse to bleed be it the staples themselves no one will tell because this murky pond swells with secrets deeper than itself our ample kin envelope interlocking thoughts while horrible meals invade kinetic plots son of man is becoming the sun fire follicles burst - the first to run but only one so two speed on chasing light to understand shadows cast upon them by things unknown struggling in chastity in lack of control awake in the wake of your own wake only to sleep for one more day admit that the pain chased away causes the freeze felt today perpetuate this lack of escape stalling for the perfect day always forgetting that all is only the sum of what you create

death opens wide for the executioner's valve a leather strapped heart relieves it's toxic stream into the endless abyss below some how the void becomes full chokes on the poison river and stands five feet tall pressure presses hard and eye lids fall impulse to run kicks a body in gear the cackle of a madman pierces my big ears "Are you afraid," he taunts I recognize his face as he refers to flaws left behind in my earlier days

reversed loop from right to left makes no more sense one can't transcend either direction obsession and addiction two minds in line perfectly parallel sterile lives inside minds alike far too similar comparable to waves with frequencies almost identical separated by different starting times temperaments that only align as often as planets on elliptical orbits circling the same sun grounded by the same center but always on projected tracks paths unique and singular to those acting as opposing extinguishers in all but one instant that infinitely rare segment of existence such contradicting signs share resonance and in consistence with the other and themselves collapse for a moment while everything else trickles its course through the particles that give texture to the fabric that links energy to the inanimate it was there and it was then that an ill concern was raised like an eyebrow on the face of the receiving end of an inquiry that wasn't meant to offend but objectivity usually fails when wind tears the sails of a ship at sea wrecked at shore by the same tools used to set it free from a land called home for the attractive unknown stuck again trapped in the bend created by the beginning repeated at the end left. right. reflect right. left. project she was me now I see the weight of everything admitted in public put in check thrust back into that debilitating self-reference but it wasn't the point that gave meaning to itself it was the Self simply pointing that gave meaning to everything else

remember Gerald smiling giraffe? remember long necks and pretentious ass? remember that dream of two towers granting visions of jungles below from so far above? remember feeling so pure and free? remember that fear and its crippling results that took years to come to terms with through reliving stories in books? remember emotions evoked by movies through music, in lyrics, on the road? remember when work was a constant soundtrack and every night was a competition for the most embarrassing guilty pleasure where the winner's shame blasted louder than the owner's mission? remember when innocent smiles weren't always only in children's' books, weren't always discovered in bathrooms so full of shit, when realization wasn't a word thrown around like a dirty tennis ball to old dogs trying to prove they can still learn new tricks? remember? of course not now wait for what it was that tom said, that nothing miraculous comes when it matters only when it doesn't so consume the trash left behind at camp and forget about a journey's purpose so that life can be learned about

I'm sitting alone only 6 feet away from the very place I discovered this game longing for the feeling that left me dealing with uncertainty a deal that left me wanting more than what I adored soaked to the core with an illness only grind could cure until revising the bill to something a homemade washboard could clean here I sit while a fat tire blazes new trails leaving the out-dated obsolete, empty and stale by chemicals given to me by a friend only concerned with seeming fresh D cups for snorting discourse in a time when all his heroes can do is write home to a lost past both players longing for the source of what was originally theirs

there is no we when I speak so freely of the filth I am projecting here I find myself alone inside a cage of mirrors all imperfectly balanced against each other endlessly reflecting infinite angles of all the mirrors before, between and after the center Self not myself this one transcends all knowledge from before existing in the ether as a ghost and nothing more so, then, what is sprawled across the surfaces of these smooth, metallic panels that I am trapped between?

at the meeting of three where no rivers meet but serve as lines I find myself free of these confines we call borders used to justify orders of culture clashes and civil matches no more evolved than not but it's not admitted because will won't permit it so I close my eyes breath and internalize this poem I long to call home sick of a search always answered by church we need not these chains so in my temple, that body of sorts finite as any other natural resource I fancy a place where we act on something more concrete than faith on something that tells us all how to live in peace and harmony something that says revolutions are only worth fighting when they spark personal insighting more often than wick lighting, in-fighting molotov blinding flashes where no lightning is assisted by thunder's roar of coarse this work has become my prayer because it's for myself it becomes real i am intent now that yoga should define life in every action now opposite of north secrets parade as past mistakes humbling the natives of such a sacred space I'm sitting on a tomb of power once abused muscle flexed and caused death but this village still sleeps in pure air perspective dances here though a mind can realize the cause of it all if not sick of it all spring to fall and the extremes in between are born within the sum of we divided by infinity or multiplied by zero when the wind blows as such and you listen everyone's a hero

i am a castle being built in the dark i am three corners your death is a chemical synthesized by the isolation of such...

anchor to inner circle rots corrosive thoughts erode safe box leaving you exposed and alone wander spheres unreal tearing the fabric of their stares shake vision field feel fission reduced to none so that no one may wander there may be no one no cycle to complete or bars to eat through rust or through blood no cup no liquid no fill no fix still still posing for pics waiting for the wash until life is watched away a slave to its waves and as such you wait no force to flow the floor acids broke batteries so store no more

always under manic notions in this solitude forever - looking, longing fall through bottomless aspiration into constant rebirth fueling the dirt below to keep it alive at the price of self sacrifice life to spoils to a solution to evolution part growth, part decay perfect balance of stagnance and rat race against motion and stillness in which all is reflecting the neglected beauty of being selfish not selfless one's own gift to the world because nobody is without a piece to bring to offerings

breath deep, tiny ocean before vanishing beneath the horizon speaking a language universal to all of life you are the crux of compromising minds and composing matter which gives way to readers and to writers the former births that latter the latter nurtures the first in a hierarchy that is tangled or so goes the word of a bible of sorts full of data and references in an attempt to decipher deficits leading to the only refreshing question regarding our own innate deafness does opposition undermine glass landings if soldiers huff opiates for sleeping tangents and debunk traditions for reasons even beyond the author's canvas of treasonous seasons?

one question that fits like a ring to rule them all: how can i be as selfish as i fantasize about being when i use self reference four times in one line? i see everything as an extension of my being because observer is the observed. how full of one's self, how ego-centric. tell me, then, how the fuck to break free from these chains of self loving - loathing really. its nights like these that i find myself behind the wheel of a machine i lost control of long ago now spiraling down a road crossing a bridge above infinite nothingness between two open sores actively spewing forth the essence of a planet incompatible with a species serving as the cancer thereof. consider pus the by product of a pill swallowed like ibuprofen or melatonin for those with neck cramps when sleep comes hard and stiffens muscles and joints so hits are hard to take when rolled too tight. tossing and turning all night. freezing but loving it because the elixir of life is always found in the absence of having to retrace steps pages at a time. here we go keystroke by keystroke. who's speaking through my fingertips when i type such bullshit after watching a lunatic speaking back into a phone call received by he who made the call himself leading to a soundtrack of recursive samples bleeding us all of what we believe to be no more than a game? it's a shame we can't find the patience to punctuate our thoughts these days. breathe in with the sound of singing in sync with sighs for today's highs and stress for tonight's lows. a six pack and hydrogenated oils. fuck those who aren't there, who stare through others impervious to themselves. too many movies blind them to the wells through which the liquid of life flows so project endlessly so long as one makes projections a reality. STOP?! Why? i can't and won't and simply don't want to. this is as real as it gets for me, so full of shit is all everything is finally at peace with our illusion. my illusion, my dream of peppers growing as the head of a crushed red bell no longer blue. lusting for mind, but not body. lusting for mind and not reality. separate the two that were once so beautifully intertwined in thoughts of tomatoes growing from behind a court for shooting hoops on the wrong side of reflection, reflecting the wrong side. reflection of the wrong side. SIGH, its over for now. at least until another track fires up the heater again - an attempt to deter what one has set for the second. even more primitive. Florida never glamorizes such delusion and i appreciate that but still feel compelled to join in the trap. only an amateur would walk into that claiming it was his or her own. i know its not. there's no way could it ever be mine but its what was handed down. i love something else. shes human. shes real. shes good to me. fuck the illusion. fuck the distance. fuck the dependency that has been replaced by an even better soundtrack. drizzle your light rains while i bleed dreams as an elitist for now, sure ill grow out of this style in awhile. fuck downtown. lets get the fuck out of town and find ourselves. if you already have will you join me on my journey? id love to take your hand in every state, at least in as many as it takes for me to realize that Ive always been who i am and who i was. thank you for your saintly patience.

you don't need to convince yourself that it's easy just don't forget that it's possible

Here lies the face of the new machine Already rusting between dirty sheets we tried to beat clean like the sins of so-called heathens not realizing our blindness through the eyes of our own demons Like seasons we binge on life and death Purging in third worlds the mess of our nests our humble unknowns from which we turn our heads as far as we can before breaking our necks We bend and twist like contortionists all in vein to avoid the face of the pain parade in hopes that we can masquerade a little longer in our once gray, now black water Though we all live in a glass house and not everyone wants out I am throwing stones despite my home to smash away all the panes as I've been feeling a bit claustrophobic these days So I left as a Ranger with the weight of the world on my shoulders to become a vulture nestling myself in the valley of two boulders To intense heat from cold streaks I combusted spontaneously And from the ashes a new series of dreams was born to lead me Now this is my pilgrimage Flesh red with wanderlust itch I'm on the road again, only this time with less trying to fill the void that WAS my existence with something more than nothingness Cause I got this notion that space and time are one infinite ocean - a construct of the mind the fabric thereof being information implicit by nature, limited only by creation So I asked myself with this new found wisdom what were the tools that got me to listen And the more I thought the more I got lost in a dance with my ego's entrapping cause It wasn't until I realized I know nothing that I learned to fly I've only soared as high before in dreams alone afraid to let myself let go Clutching crutches like feet on a tight rope teetering between the highest towers begging to get back to base, I cowered from bliss for illusion in a temporary fix Chemicals to trip, alcohol to forget aspirations devoured by a faceless pig Consumption for the sake of destruction bleeds dreams forever as a lost function taking the form of any addiction claiming the cure is in the infliction Until the levees broke and flooded receptors I was lost in a maze of myself A dose of reality about soul collectors shattered isms to pieces and turned weakness to wealth

what does it mean when you dream of gun battles between enemies you've never seen before like some kind of video game where the last level always ends in a stalemate and even though you had enough ammunition to finish your mission you gave your gun to the one you trusted to reload alone while you stood guard for the good of a cause... a cause you're not even sure exists anymore but that you still fight valiantly for one you would even die for? like the age old curse of a father's gun that subtle feeling that you are on the cusp of something so dark, even though the presents so bright in your narrow scope of one single night you romanticize the blight of a knight's honored battle even though you've been told to be weary of the saddle you've draped over the shoulders of a scapegoat you now exercise control over and knowing that all results are long term even if your attention is quickly burnt too quick, even, for you to realize what's consumed by the actions taken in haste you ignore warnings until an ugly, flickering disgrace reminds your blinded mind of your quest for the sky and dream as you may, but it may be too late as the sun sets dusk and forgets all of us dream as you may, but it may be too late

Dextrolitus! called out the god of Thought In extreme bewilderment he cried out Once more the name of his mortal bloodline So loud that the whole Earth shattered this time Then violently the ghost of his machine Fell from his Astral self - woke from his dream He was asleep for a minute it seemed His vision blurred, and he could barely see He pried his eyes open - they weighed a ton He knew he hadn’t been sleeping too long Knowing he slept since at least four fifty He jumped out of bed and furiously The digits of his clock were spinning fast He was mortally outraged when he asked Who is this that calls my name while I sleep? How dare you disturb my one time of peace! It is I, Egoid, who has crafted you From the seed of patterns of every hue Egoid, the source of all from what was none I destroyed space-time to find you, my son There is a path which only you can find No one so worthy in all of mankind The Multiverse granted me permission To give you sensory-deprivation How can this be real? I need to see proof! Is there any way I can know it’s you? If you are the Ultimate Consciousness Why in my quests are you so elusive? You who manipulates sound vibrations King of men and of aural sensations Do you not believe in the frequencies That only you create, though you can’t see? I sacrificed symmetry to give you Better ears than the balance that most choose I have given you more to think about Than the others who wanted a way out Some run from me and some give endlessly You are free to either musically These instruments were made for you to use Is the trance of such not sufficient proof? And as for your quest you know only math Even physics, but where’s the other half? Have you not studied String and M-Theory Enough to know about reality? When one looks he shall never in life find The true nature of even his own mind You strive too much and are seeking balance I have come to you with your last challenge For others have tried and some do not care But the gods above have put you right here You imply a center where I exist Though in my own kingdom I feel unfit Oh Egoid, Ultimate Creator Of Is this a complex I must overcome? Angrily the god of Brain Matter said, Has skepticism left your whole mind dead? Still you ask, when I demand you listen Has not your destiny been conditioned? Do you suggest that I have no free will That if I did I’d create my own hell? How is man to know wisdom uncovered God or neuron - created, discovered?! When I believe I relinquish control Therefore, logic and reasoning I know To suit my life more than a leap of faith How can I submit to that with no face? You, Dextrolitus, have created me? But from where I stand it actually seems That I transcend all of humanity Is not your logic a form of belief? To you two and two will never be three The truth is the leap is necessary Dextrolitus enraged cursed the spirits He demanded to see some evidence Logic to you may be irrelevant But, he went on, it is all that I get Why am I to leap and swim in your void Even if you are the Conscious Egoid? Suddenly Dextrolitus woke again His dream of a dream was to soon begin How was he to know if he was awake? He asked as darkness blanketed his face Strangely he could not see, feel, taste or hear All was numb - did his vivid dream turn real? Time stood still and space was nonexistent Locked in this void his thoughts weren’t so distant All of his fears crept up slowly on him He tried to suppress them but knew they’d win Memories and emotional distress Ignorance and all childhood regrets Consumed the thoughts of dead Dextrolitus He realized he’d been living an image Of what he thought to be just and perfect But also that none of these thoughts were his He tried to run, and epitomized man But where can one go when there is no land Or structures, politics, ideas or time To cower beneath or to hide behind? One by one phobias were presented As the gods that they once represented The god of desire robbed him of peace She grew gigantic and split his psyche Now there was a right-side brain and left mind Two towers split in the blink of an eye And as the infinite distance between Expanding universes’ galaxies Whose expansion grew exponentially And instantly and indefinitely Due to the quantum level and the gods Who created it all while still at odds With each other over control issues So is the gap between a path to choose And in between a line of deities Danced in the void waiting to be appeased A Dead Slave to his thoughts, Dextrolitus Remembered Egoid and his dream challenge Frantically, he bit threw all of his chains To free his soul of this eternal pain The endless line of thought-embodied gods Used their powers to destroy his neurons Dextrolitus the Bodiless Being Attacked the first thought that was within reach The more that he fought, the faster the thought He felt his essence beginning to rot His perceived sense of identity died The shell that remained did not justify Any of the reasons he wasn’t free Then he chose to create his destiny Dextrolitus the Ill-Fated Mortal Fell as nothing into a rabbit hole The thoughts of his dream were no longer gods But parts of himself that he feared a lot The end of this astronomical tube Was the voice of reasoning and of truth The mouth opened up and swallowed him whole He was digested, then out spewed his soul Finally, he could see, feel taste and hear And instantly confronted his own fear It was that of a familiar form Its eyes foretold of an on-coming storm They were pale blue and the pupils were small Irritation plagued the mirrored eyeballs Dextrolitus stepped back to see some more Then in horror he collapsed to the floor The face he was staring in was his own His senses flushed and he let out a moan He saw the sound waves travel from his mouth The storm broke out as they shattered the ground His reflection was destroyed by a voice That came from below and sounded like noise Blood began to drip down from both his ears The storm raged on for what seemed to be years The pain was beyond any suffering The Champion of Sound had ever seen Of all the infinitely dense knowledge He stored only what seemed of importance And still his mind was full of this deceit But swore that it was all worth being free Finally, Egoid appeared and then asked Do you still wish to live as a free man? Have you yet cursed your gifts of thought and sound? Will you give up freedom to live for now? The Enlightened Dextrolitus replied I have killed my pride and this is my life If you are the true creator of things Then you decide the probabilities It was my desire that caused all this And its my head that I have been trapped in So you are just an extension of me And now I choose to leave myself empty Egoid then shouted out in disbelief How is it that you have discovered me? You are right, it is not I who made you But you who found me and that is the truth Just then Egoid vaporized in thin air The path to waking life appeared right there Dextrolitus this Hero of The Self Cautiously stepped forth to exit this hell His eyes opened and were burnt by the sun His clock told him it was four fifty one Knowing that there would be even more strife Dextrolitus woke up from sleep and sighed…

fell everything unhinged then entropy collapsed down on this hallway where nothing is romanced where dimensions are less than infinite drill know that I am not here, but deep under nil the absence of light sparked fable tales of a tunnel presenting itself from behind silk veils no more involved in illusion than before I impassively wander through every open door to discover that creation is imperfection death - liberation that all acts of man are for petty preservation of the lies that false egos implant in us fueling destruction through an insatiable lust so that we cling and cry but never ask why only damn our condition and neglect open skies so that our gift is a curse when the cup is not full still knowing that anything less is too much for one soul riddles and metaphors could never conceal the hideous face of a fear this real and meaning just that, no more or less we are all empty space waiting vacant the grind, the law, the drive for all will never fill the gaping maw that drives us all into an empty end with blackened hearts and bloodied hands and the games we play to count down the days that we've been given but take for granted are used to wait, but not to ponder they're used to sink and fall but not to wonder if there is a problem with any of the definitions at hand of the truth we knew before divisions grew three stones in hand, so the vision spoke in dark places of the mind so be beauty evoked interpretations ran scarce because resources were limited to what was in reach of a web thus conditioned