See me knowing my hell, to be knowledgeable of ones own misgivings and to have no control upon the end in which talents are put to use. I sit blind not dare stepping, a sworn riot fills the isles, jesters feet of the unwashed livens a beckoned worm to feast a peckish find. To feel the grips waning in the realest of times has a might easier time maketh thee leering a drooled dreg amongst the ground. To feel a stupor so vast an unending urge of ceaseless quieting of rational minds eye. The licking lips of violent intent, the sultry succulent sexual sensation stirring a peered eyed gaze unto tortured Hinds, as meat so taunt and thick, a rabid beast doth approach the waking shores. A mind so addled by fate, a wound time doth so sublimate. My confusion be the death of you, this beating falsetto from a shadow in the dark a hapless burdening but flickers a glimmer.