What the hell does it do,
When the ghastly abirigerant sat by,
The strange things that might just wait for me to die.
Voxel is a deception thats governed by you and I,
But little more than tinder that writhes,
Forgotten in time that goes by.
I must say, though
When I take another breath,
I take it through my nose.
Because there's not much to do when the ships part from you,
Into the sea and its ways,
The things that rock about in waves,
And the flippant disregard for the places I've been.
I sit in isolated slumber,
But resting is an okay feeling,
It just sometimes mixes with the painting in my mind's eye.
Yet in the secrets of the doubting,
And the frustration it arises,
I contemplate this thing that left me blind.
I didn't speak until a concerning age,
Maybe three but maybe five,
I felt the responsibikity of the ancestors the lied.
It's weird and sacraligeous,
How the father in my vision,
Was never there for me and I..
But the inclination of another mirror brings thoughts that frustrate,
And I fight with the desire to die,
But the gallows hang and I sometimes feel free.
It's come through at times,
and others not,
But I really try,
Expecially teary eyed.
The people don't care to consider,
Abd they never did but stare,
This weird confusion of responsibility.
My hands feel numb at night,
And I suppose this which is a part of me,
It will always be that which keeps me free.
The dymorphic seperation of the eye now blind,
And peoples right to be,
I hold enough well-meaning energy.