huddled in storage by forgotten dreams innocence drops from Atlas's grip as lofty men push on openly compromising chronic tragedies for a bitter taste of reality. dawn to dusk to dawn is time spent wasted inside a mind capable of nothing more, perhaps at best of a diatribe against its' thoughts and provocation of the demons deep or persecution of the humanity it keeps. so sitting in reflection leaves me with much to lose seems impossible to glance ahead when my eyes are scrutinizing trapped in a gaze behind me. a momentary lapse of reason coupled to subconscious treason a poetic justice greets my thoughts the depravity spoken, perhaps sought now spent resting nearly alone silence preys upon my drums with bedlam dwelling behind my eyes. Berlin has nothing on me! representing freedom, perhaps sovereignty walls broken down by folklore Mjollnir now bashing my skull crushing the thin line between all the things i show as me and all the things i dread to be crawling steadfast and clearly from the depths of insanity.