A world of desperation.
The face and the faceless.
Indescribable yet on the tip of my tongue.
Impecability holds the key to power.
I stare out over the city on my park bench throne.
The morning hours calm my mind.
Crows speak in their own tongue.
I reflect on a night of dreaming.
The number is 4.
Time to let go of what I can no longer carry.
My saving grace is love.
Without that all things perish.