I want to see the sky, I want to see you lie, these words aren’t meant for you, there meant for I. Idolatry, iconoclastic, take me passed this burning matchstick. Robbed of sight and hard of hearing, lead astray to life’s grand clearing. Does the night yet long for the day, lingering fraught with agony and dismay. The tortured soul fixed between two equal impossibilities, and the walls are closing in. I feel as if I could drown in the shallow end of my intention, the weight of a decision still creeping beyond apprehension. What makes a man, how come no one seems to understand, that I wake up everyday, alone and in pain. A pain, I can not see, or taste, or touch, I’ve felt it for so long now, a desire to be known. Though, I fear I’ll miss the serene silence I’ve become accustomed to, wondering if making an impression, is really worth the trouble. Will I be a dead poet in a society of some distant future, before I finally make, my mark on the world.