Behind the soft focus and midnight lamps, I stand an individual ripe of expression and newborn neon. A flourescent buzzkill in my own devices. Passion is never an option, only a cursed persistence of never gone yet sometimes frozen feeling. I storm the eye of unfinished castles hidden underneath my thick nail plucked yet frail skin. There assumptions rain on rushed hurricanes. Always carry the message of nonsense, a hidden devotion in motion.

Still torn to stand tall in the vicious battle of corn-walled glamour vehicles, and the soul selling purgatory arts, I prove to be capable in the flesh of caress I disown. No memory deeper, it's the one thing I'll always know: the mind I own.