[nothing]

I)Light has departed from a falling star, probing to the voiceless void of closure; our enterprise to bring darkness down, removing thy eyes and returning home: With distorted patterns of bleak recollection we are poisoned by tentacles of the past, lurking behind a thin veil of stigmatized sleep in uttermost shame hiding behind its essence; nightmares releasing a terrible disease beyond matter in an untouchable scatter of a negative kingdom, horrible and white, where angels are but stone, horrible and white. II)The cracks are beginning to show gaps of time with bloodstained riddles in tainted sickness and the miracle is that nothing has happened nor has it a history with a crumbling name: The dead play anorchestraof falling snow, but we are the flesh bringing with us life, wasted on madness through space and time; once like a virus now burned out and dying as violence introduces a shortcut for losers, dropping all flesh delusions past mankind, falling and arising to the diamond of lies; walking among the shadows of a faded cast acting out their last role as beautiful stars, leaving us in blank and inept purgatory. III)We paint our sins as scars of blood in a barren landscape where all is in inertia; in shades of gray and cold dismay these fallen stars are my people: The echoes of a dream in a distant past drown me in the ripples of the black sea as breathing came to be deeper than words in between waking and true sleep when I find a treasure in the tower of wisdom, but all dreams end here where our cries began resounding museums of memory; I climbed up to the very top wanting to see all that could waste the wicked view.