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A deathly chill that settles in the depths of somewhere as the cold and husky whispers of the wind fill the air and shake the shine out of what’s left of you. A stroll you take with each step becoming more and more clueless about who you are leaving you bare I swear.


Vows made in solemn, with each fall, hope flees or do we allow thee? A thought in time at the loss of time, only when defeated does better appear on that murky rather over-stained rear view mirror. Finding conviction in these here predictions, so in explicit acts one rebels in a quest to reinvent oneself though fruitless with thanks to diverging efforts.


In contrast to your emotional and pedagogical preoccupations you learn not and remain constrained by mental enslavement within these confines. In it but not in it, your hand they take and press on trying not to lose what they never had. Filled with thoughts of lost pearls and gold; too much commotion in a confined space you’d think it easy to escape but alas we have become blinded within these here confines left with nothing but a wordly affair and lies.


inspired by ‘Davy Jones’