My breath seems foreign, veins rearranged Lengthless arms extend from their sockets and seem so far away
My body unwhole, my mind in decay Thoughts race to finish, for rememberence Another memory, another day
Conscience is my reality when not a thing feels true
To complain unhelplessly is an addiction That I do not strive to change
Sain is the comfort found in a thrice same moment The thrust of recreation within viewing unseen things
Same is the way of my dreams
Death of perception
An eraser diminishing a head full of thinking strings
