I see what I do,

I walk toward it too,

I fly where I stitch the new.

In this eternal dream,
I wake.

Wake up.

Sounds become feels,

The chapter spins and reels,

I watch the scenery shift and peel,

Taking the weight of what it deals.

Wake up.

I begin to see,

A cage that begs to break free,

A silent plea caught endlessly
A dance with death,
a fleeing decree.

Wake up.

Is this real?

Nothing begins to feel.

The past bleeds into the future’s seal,

Bound to a fate I can’t repeal.

Wake up.

A S̵͖̉͝o̵̡̞͓̖͊̀́ư̶̛̺̻͛̽͂̋̈n̸̝̜̖̥̓̎̆̏ḓ̶̰̥̝͕̗̟̓͑́̾̃̈̋̿̏̑ͅ?

A bed of comfort found.

A pulse that hums beneath the ground.

Or is it not so round?

Ŷ̷͍͙͚̝̈́̆͂͐̚͝͝ö̷̩̳͙̯́̿͜ͅu̵̼̘̞̳̣̓͌͐̏̔̇’̶̢̹͛͑̀̍̈́̓̐͑̈͠r̴̈́̈́͆͌­̯̲̱͚̬͇̠̤̯̖̄́̊͗͋͝ė̶̟͎̭̱̓͆̋̈̾͐̈́̕ ̶̫͔̤̟̫̯̥͉́̾ǹ̷͍̉̅̓̓̆̃o̸̢͙͐̾t̴̥͆ ̷̘̖̰̯͖̘̙̂r̵̨̛̘͚̲̈̈ͅe̶͇̙̭̙̽͋͒͜ǎ̴͍̙͚̹͗͛̽̌͝l̶̤͖̇͋̽̆.̶͈̣̩̱̦̉̀̅̐̿̈́̉̚͠­̯̣͕̫

Praise to fright,
Out of sight,
I hold my light.

I hold it darkness;
Others see it as bliss,
I see something’s amiss.

Praise I hate.
Bliss, leave it to fate,
And none the better to crate.

I practice low,
To hold my light amongst flow,
To gather more to not show,
For what needs to sow.

I hold my light.
I know.
I hide the blight.
They won’t know.
I hide their sight,
For fear they woe.

Difference is the fear,
The normalcy that is clear.
For the light they hate,
The darkness full they ate.
I know their bait.

For my lights timid,
And For that I hid.

Years spent by,
Mirage of image.
Decency of none.
It is said good man do nothing,
Because the chains of lies.
It is said it is impossible to,
Because there must be cries.
You know nothing,
Devilish whisper,
I am now something.
I have a dream,
To be nothing.

Men at their limits
Are at time to break.
For their dreams reaching,
They must not forsake.

The burning condition,
Burnout of though.
To dream to be,
Impossible for sickly roe.
The rot of being,
The not of doing.
Anxiety, tempting it covers,
A blanket of roughness.
A coffin of distress.
I will bring blackness,
Though empty it may be.
I bring the darkness,
I bring comfort.

Words of change grow,
A shell broken and boundless row.

If I see it can, why?
For I can do, why can’t he?

Nor can I do, when can I?
Onto itself it’s doomed,
This, I cannot shoo!

I see that there is where
,

What can say what?
How can it be?
Or I am explicitly the.
?

Yet, The question answers none but asks all.
On and on, And still, I stand:
Until, If not I… who?
!