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 Searched and scoured rituals and empty deeds In spite of my attempts, each vision is one of exit signs No wordly comfort can rest the most active of minds