Tired conversations with myself, mesh of voices echoing

Recurring patterns of declining thought

An empty stare, a wandering mind

Slave to a rampant pathos, the laments of a weary soul

Unbound in pursuit to structure the intangible

I am the gravelike silence

I am the product of this white noise creation

Could never attune to distorted visions

An admission of the outcast, the consummate offense

I see myself drawn to fire as on film

I am the spectator of my own downfall

Searchеd and scoured rituals and empty deeds

In spite of my attеmpts, each vision is one of exit signs

No wordly comfort can rest the most active of minds