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| ⚠️☢️☣️''' WARNING: THIS POETRY IS VERY BAD. DO NOT USE FOR ANY FORM OF EXAMPLE OR INSPIRATION. EVAN IS NOT LIABLE IF THE BAD POETRY POLICE COME AND ARREST HIM '''☣️☢️⚠️
| | You want it? Just ask |
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| Solitude:<br>
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| Here I am<br>
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| Filling the empty space<br>
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| That only resides where I am<br>
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| Dreaming of others<br>
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| Hoping to find something to warm my solitude<br>
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| Sometimes I do<br>
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| And it is quickly filled with more cold and empty space than there was before<br>
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| Action, observance, and soul-searching<br>
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| Only make the walls colder<br>
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| And the empty space larger<br>
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| Yet it contracts<br>
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| Squeezes you of all desire<br>
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| Erodes one's want for love<br>
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| Wants turn into dreams<br>
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| And dreams turn into failures<br>
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| Until there is nothing<br>
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| But me and empty, cold, space<br>
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| Here I am<br>
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| Scaffolding:
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| So many people
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| Taking up space
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| Making the illusion that there is meaning
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| And yet the scaffolding connecting us
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| Is destroyed by my desperate grasp
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| Its so crowded
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| Friends, family, colleges
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| All occupy space
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| Some more than others
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| And yet you know that in that instant
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| That instant where you reach for more
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| That instant when you hope to find purpose
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| Only leads to more space to be filled
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| Which is filled with more scaffolding and people
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| Scaffolding which has been abandoned
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| Scaffolding which I know will never be built
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| And only traps me, making failure after failure
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| Never completing anything
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| Only preventing movement and desire
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| Its crowded
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| Yet the seclusion grows by the moment
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| Of people, things existing
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| Always aspiring for more
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| Seeing others heights
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| Seeing how and what is made
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| How great it is
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| And how hard it seems to become as great
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| It’s never enough for one is always higher
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| It seems many have had enough
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| Enough trying to be the best
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| Resigned to being mediocre
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| But not me
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| No I will push through
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| Only to find a mountain higher
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| Maybe the resigned ones are right
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| Maybe it’s not worth it
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| Maybe i should resign to mediocrity
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| Stop disappointing myself
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| Getting closer to dying inside everyday
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| Never satisfied
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| Always dying
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| Initiation
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| That thing that nobody ever does
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| That thing that I must always do
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| Forever praying for somebody to do it
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| Until those monumental weeks of waiting
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| Those weeks where you forget the world
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| Those weeks where you turn the inner eye inwards
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| Searching for something that doesn’t make me hate myself
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| Praying for one to start something of value
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| Yet no buzz shakes my life
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| No buzz comes until I buzz them
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| And the moment I do
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| They love me for those moments
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| Giving me gratification for something I never deserved
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| And then it ends, those strings of words
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| Only to leave a string of questions
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| Wrapping around my mind
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| Squeezing me of all desire to reach
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| Forcing the eye ever inwards
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| Until you are too far in to see
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| Others looking in disgust
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| Exhaustion
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| Am I great?
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| Or is it just in my eyes?
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| Are my eyes turned too far inward?
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| Should I turn them farther outwards?
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| Viewing others and not turn the inner eye
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| Or would that be obsession and lurking
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| But those who turn inwards are obsessed with the self
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| Those who reach the equilibrium
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| Somehow find that infinitesimally small space
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| Where the eyes are perfectly balanced
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| Never for me
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| Something out of my reach
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| Till my eyes cease to move
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| Cease to searching
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| Cease to being all that I am
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| Trappings of the infinite Void:
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| The vastness of that void whose walls are made of stone
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| The void that consumes all and is infinite
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| Expanding in all directions, yet turning blood to ice with its intimate touch
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| Everything one has to offer to the world and void in their vastness
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| Is simply eaten by that void that burns desire with its enclosing grasp that tightens by the moment
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| It takes many different forms
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| Other people and their hunger
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| The infinite reservoir of self disappointment
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| Or the empty physical world we find ourselves in
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| No matter if you put in uncountable things
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| Or a single mustard seed
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| All is consumed without remorse
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| Most not appreciated or valued
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| Even if noticed nothing cares and whatever it is will be rapidly forgotten
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| Nothing changes, as the world becomes stagnant with its waves of snowballing freezing
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| For the void coils around all of us
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| All it squeezes all fascination and interest of all it encircles around
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| Leaving a bleak infinite void that constricts all life
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| Until there is nothing
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| A man of evil
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| How I have been cast aside
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| How it seems that whenever I share a time with someone
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| They never look back, never mourning the spent time
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| Could it be my fault? Of course it is
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| For I am a man of dark temptations and evil thoughts
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| How could I convince myself of otherwise
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| How could I believe I am worthy of any love
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| Any form of support is an echo, fading before it touches me
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| For it is impossible to believe there is any good inside when I am a man eclipsed by his own darkness
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| Nobody is ever inquisitive back
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| I always ask first, wonder first, look first
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| Could it be that they know how much of me is evil?
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| Impossible, only I know that, my exquisite mask is too perfect
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| And nobody can see through it, nobody
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| Yet I must always worry because it seems like everyone knows
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| Dooming me to a meaningless existence of solitude
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| Is this the existence of a man living in his shadows?
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| The light of today and the night of tomorrow:
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| Oh how I must dwell on today
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| For if I picture tomorrow
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| All turns to ash
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| Today I have people talking, people to feel the warmth of
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| But tomorrow they all disappear
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| Whether time grows on them or I am ostracized
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| The unopened letters will only contain broken dreams
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| The only thing I get back from roses is thorns
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| And when I am so far lost in the void I may join it
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| The Mask
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| How a mask hides everything I am
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| How in a group of the pure it hides the evil inside
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| How it shows the side that they want to see
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| A mask only pours guilt into the soul
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| Condemned to bedrock
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| While they soar higher than the clouds
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| When underneath that mask your face is disfigured
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| And everyone seems to know it
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| While you pour out love and dedication
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| You see it in return, yet it echos away | |
| For a man with a mask of perfect design
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| Falls further into his own shadows every day
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| How the grind never ends
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| Perseverance they say
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| Grit they say
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| Yet they make it impossible
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| The only method to pass is release
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| Whether its sounds, sensation, or death
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| Yet here I am marking papers with numbers and words
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| That hold no real purpose other than grinding you down
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| Chipping and rubbing away until you’re but a pebble in the sea
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| Rather than the great boulder you once were
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| Yet most want it, they say it’s good, it’ll get you far
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| Yet it only diminishes and blinds everyone
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| The impact of a pebble is meaningless
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| Yet nobody even realizes they are a pebble
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| How the lies stab
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| The lies of confirmation bias
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| How I ask if I should even try
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| And everyone says try
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| And yet everyone knows I’m hopeless
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| I’ll never have any chance with anyone
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| All I will ever get from roses is thorns
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| Because I am truly awful, yet grasping out for more
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| How could those I trust most lie to my face
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| How could those I trust most not say I’m simply hopeless
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| Never could a being find me to be
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| A light
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| A hope
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| A love
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| A reason
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| And neither will I
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| Many have asked me why I hate myself
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| It’s because I never say the right thing
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| I make people laugh, but it’s hollow, and it slips out of mind
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| It’s because I never act right
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| My body is never good enough
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| And I like it that way
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| I enjoy the suffering
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| And nobody knows why
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| Not even me
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| Because I’ll never be anything to anyone
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| And I might be so meaningless I will join the void
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| Yet here I am despising everything
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| Despising those liars that can’t tell the truth
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| Despising the world for what it’s done to me
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| Despising myself beyond everything else
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| Existing and wasting the world away around me with
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| My idiocracy
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| My clawing for the warm touch
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| My mediocrity
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| My awkwardness
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| My aura of uncomfort
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| And that, is why I will never be a reason
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| Flaws of todays world:
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| The lost inherit flaw in the world today
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| Is the false belief of potential
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| Everyone believes that everyone can do anything
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| Everyone believes that anyone can climb the tallest mountain
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| Yet what nobody realizes that if everyone can do that
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| Then nobody is special
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| Nobody achieves anything
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| Nobody sets themselves apart
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| I am in the smarter group
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| Yet nobody here is special
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| Because we all see through the same factory lense
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| All given the challenge to achieve our dreams
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| When everyone knows that if we do reach them
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| Nobody really grows because everyone grew
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| Why have I been put here?
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| In this place of shades of grey
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| Where all I am is popular
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| Funny, and cool on the surface
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| But below nobody ventures
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| Nobody wants to see the inside of this great sight
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| And nobody can tell me why
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| Nobody would ever want to have me be a reason
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| Nobody would ever want to have me be a purpose
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| And nobody will ever convince me that driving slow is reasonable
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| Because I’ll never have a reason to drive slow
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| There are a million reasons to speed
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| But only one reason to drive with caution
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| And that reason is something I can never have
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| Because my hands grip too tightly to those I love
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| My hands are covered in ice
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| Uncomfortable and awkward
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| Both in touch and spoken word
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| Why do I stand here?
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| Devoid and without purpose
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| Oh how we believe we are enlightened
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| How we believe we are intelligent
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| How we think our figures incredible
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| How we think the world well
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| How behind walls and stand blind
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| How are the walls are clear, yet cloud our eyes
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| With bread, and circus
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| Panem et circenses
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| How we think this concept is from a time lost
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| Yet our minds stand murky and dwelling on things of pleasure
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| We have been blinded
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| With this comforting tar we all stand in
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| Standing stagnant with false stories of progress
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| Yet we have bread, we have circus always
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| And they are everywhere, dominating our lives
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| Yet we see through it, seeing the horror of the world
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| Some saying to help, to assist
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| And we stand there in mud laughing like we stand above
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| Because why act when the belly is full
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| And the eyes and mind are filled with pleasurable things
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| How blind we really are
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| Why can’t I believe I have meaning?
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| Why do I just feel this way?
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| Because nobody wants me
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| Because nobody speaks first
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| Nobody wants more out of me
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| And to feel this way is an act of weakness
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| Because I must be better
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| Lest I become a pathetic man
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| Who can’t fix his own dilemmas
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| I shouldn’t be his way
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| I should be acting at peak performance always
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| That is how it is done
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| And to show weakness is weak
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| To need friends, to need her
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| Is weak
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| And weakness is not something that I can tolerate
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| Yet I cant stop feeling this way
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| So why live in this world when I am only subpar
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| And weak
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| Here I am
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| Standing on the wrong side of the glass
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| Pounding the glass
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| Slamming my fist against that pane
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| That smooth surface that’s so slippery
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| So slippery to prevent climbing
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| Praying it will break or fracture
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| Allowing me a breath of the fresh air
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| Allowing me to experience paradise
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| Where people experience each other
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| Feeling each others warmth
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| Yet this side is nothing but a desolate waste
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| Social distancing is kept for no perceptible reason
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| I am stuck here
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| Staring through the glass
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| Eyeing those on the right side
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| Pounding the glass
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| Yet it only seems to become stronger with ever hit
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| Always staying here for all time
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| Never leaving because the universe has determined it
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| For some eldritch reasoning
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| Toying with me using false doors and windows
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| And here I stand baffled with of my greatness
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| And yet broken with my failures
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| And yet the universe stands observing me and laughing
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| Why do I always do this?
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| I step into somebody's life
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| And instead of righting the wrongs
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| I wrong her world
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| Whether it's because I have become involved in her business
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| Or because I’ve complicated basic things
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| And yet I can’t help myself
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| Why must I always get involved?
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| I used to yell to the sky that
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| That drama would be saved for another day
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| And yet I always am in the middle
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| The person that all the fingers are pointed towards
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| As everyone laughs at my failures
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| Yet hiding their laughter behind fake comforts
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| They’re weak, they can hide anything
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| Because I have the most exquisite mask of everyone
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| And I can see through it all
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| Yet see through all lenses
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| And see that I am truly a failure
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| And keep all emotion blocked behind a machine of perfection
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| The numbness of the world
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| Always cold, yet never freezing
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| Staying in a gray area of numbness
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| Because emotion has no purpose
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| Emotion only slows down the computing of a human
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| Yet perfect computation leaves you cold as ice
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| Waiting for some heat to be bestowed upon you
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| Because you are too weak to make your own heat
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| Too cold and distant to find love or friends
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| And when you do they don’t care
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| They would pick anyone over you
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| Because you are a meaningless machine
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| Oh how I am extraneous
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| Why am I like this
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| Why have I been designed as decorative
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| With all the people laughing at the jokes I tell
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| When they only do it to comfort me in my pointless state
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| I could simply turn into nothing
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| Because that's how much I contribute to everything
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| Nothing
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| And that's all that I will ever be
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| Because I will never build anything
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| I will never even secure or see anything
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| Because that's all that I am
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| Extraneous
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| Useless
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| Empty
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| Why do I exist
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| There will never be a day where I see my love
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| And tell her she is beautiful
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| I will never see the day where a human
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| Makes time in my name
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| Many ask why do I sit here motionless
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| The only answer I can make is I have nothing else
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| I can lay on my couch forevermore
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| But it will also always stay empty
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| Leaving me to myself
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| For no matter how positive I am
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| Or excited to see others
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| They never give it back
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| People find me easy to talk to, yet difficult to connect to
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| Which means I am an interface
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| I am simply a thing you connect with and interact with
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| If I have no more meaning than a digitizer
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| Then I shouldn’t even exist
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| There’s a still moment when you realize, yet beautiful
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| You don’t matter
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| You don’t contribute
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| You don’t mean anything to anyone at all
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| Some turn to you after all other paths have been cut off
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| To others you are the loser who fails without fail
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| To others you are a decorative fixture in their day
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| But to the world you mean nothing
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| Because everybody is living in their own fake world
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| There will be a moment when you forget something
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| And nobody remembers for you
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| If they cared they would
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| If they ever did they would have shown it
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| But they let you forget
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| So I’m going to forget them
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| I’m going to forget the world
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| Am I real?
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| Many would say yes
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| But we all know the answer
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| For I am but a decoration in others lives
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| Or a tool to be used, and disposed
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| But I care not
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| I will continue on
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| Because if the world has turned its back on me then why care
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| Why not drift into obscurity
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| Why not drive until both tanks are empty
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| Because nobody sees me
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| Nobody sees under the lake
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| But the surface…
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| Calm, cool, contained
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| Sometimes too still
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| But nobody will ever find out if treasure or horror
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| Are under the surface
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| Why am I here
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| I’m not even real
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| Why has my passion drained away
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| Anything is simply a thing
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| A person is just a person
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| When I hear something I loved
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| I realize I love it no more
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| For the plum of passion has been dried
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| The unending flow of aether of l is still
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| Its fair fullness has vanished
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| It is simply a shriveled husk on the ground
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| Yet hiding its true face of remorse
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| Just like me
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| Gone
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| They all disappeared
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| It feels too soon
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| Yet it's already been years
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| I should be sad
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| I should be mourning their departure
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| But instead I only reflect on my imperfections
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| I write and write to them
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| But never send my words
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| I still trace their fingerprints
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| Hoping to follow their legacy in any way
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| Because now it's just me
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| Trying to fill in their footstep
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| With echoes of my mistakes lingering around me
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| With me to fill their infinite hole
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| That no version of me will ever fill
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| There is no version of me
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| That could ever match them
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| That could ever simply be as interesting
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| Gone
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| Why am I still here?
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| Everyone moves
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| Yet I sit
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| Waiting to leave
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| Ready to leave
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| But you’re not done.
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| You still have time to waste
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| And love to find
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| Yet you cannot find the life within you to do it
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| Desperately holding the dread off
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| Thinking about those that passed before you
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| And their incredible legacy
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| That I couldn't hope to trace
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| Yet I am here
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| Waiting to leave
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| You’re so busy in the moment
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| Your mind so clouded by the thought of their empty space
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| That you forgot if they will trace your fingerprints
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| You forget if they will see the imprint and mourn
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| And when you realize your body becomes a void
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| Stuck thinking about how you don’t contribute
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| You’re not special
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| You haven’t mattered to them since day 1
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| You are simply a flavor in their mouth
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| Leaving nothing behind
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| You reminisce of how you’ve failed them
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| When they never even knew
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| They never even knew you
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| And that claws out your heart
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| And nothing can ever fill it again
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| Because they’ll never see what you become
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| They’re gone
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| The only reason I might still be here
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| Is gone
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| After what seems like too little time
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| When it’s been years
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| How could I pray to carry on a legacy
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| That is nigh limitless
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| How could I carry another generation
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| Like they carried me
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| How could I possibly fill the hole left behind?
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| I don’t have to
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| Because the next generation
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| Has no fathom of the hole left by them
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| But they will know the hole left by me
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| At some moments my mask slips
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| It doesn't happen often
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| I love the imagery of rot underneath
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| I find comfort in the grotesque
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| But later I realize
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| It isn't what I thought it was
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| It isn't a thing of beauty, nor of decay
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| I am still a man underneath
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| Many don't accept what it is
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| But some might be allured
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| Some might find a jewel under that cover
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| And when they see me for who I am
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| I will finally realize that I don't need the mask
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| I will finally realize that I was a fool living in voluntary misery
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| But I will finally be free
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| There are those moments
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| When your heart is warmed
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| But it is hollow
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| It has no real meaning
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| The moment is manufactured
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| You’re not unique
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| You’re not special
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| I’ll play nice always
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| But I’m not always wanting more
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| The good of the many
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| Outweigh the good of the few
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| But
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| Only when it has meaning
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| Only when its unique
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| And only when people will mix their routine
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| Step away from the standard
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| And find something new
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| The true mirror:
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| That motion
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| Visions of horrific moments flash
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| Hopes and dreams die
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| As you studiously review interaction
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| Redoing it after the fact
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| That motion that goes in circles
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| The way I perfect words spoken in the past
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| The way I correct untouchable things
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| That motion of decay
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| As I walk in circles I only carve a circle in my mind
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| I cave a hole in my skin
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| As the ultimate form of punishment is harm
| |
| Thinking about yesterday, now, and tomorrow
| |
| All at once
| |
| Correcting possible things
| |
| Correcting past things
| |
| Correcting myself
| |
| Yet it all goes to nothing
| |
| Because it only digs the trench deeper
| |
| But you’re only fighting a mirror
| |
| | |
| Look at how huge this world is
| |
| We are so blissfully ignorant
| |
| Ignoring billions to have our 50
| |
| Watching cars go by wondering
| |
| How their lives are hard
| |
| Wondering what’s happening in their lives
| |
| Have they gotten a promotion
| |
| Did they just get fired
| |
| Did they just get married
| |
| Or did they just get divorced
| |
| Are they having the time of their lives
| |
| Or suffering in complete agony
| |
| This we will never know because we are all ignorant
| |
| Yet it’s so blissful
| |
| | |
| Here I am
| |
| Imagining I am so high
| |
| When I’m touching the floor
| |
| How could I be foolish and imagine
| |
| And dream
| |
| Of my own greatness
| |
| When I haven’t even jumped
| |
| Trying to hit something other than the ground
| |
| Yet everyone says I have potential
| |
| And everyone says I am high
| |
| Yet it’s all lies
| |
| How could the world lie to me like this
| |
| But why should I be angry
| |
| When I am only the fool
| |
| | |
| Why say anything
| |
| When all my mouth contains is poison
| |
| Creating a cloud of toxic around me
| |
| Infecting everything around me
| |
| My voice isn’t of vibration and air
| |
| It’s of disease
| |
| When I try to laugh
| |
| Or inflict that on others
| |
| It isn’t what it should be
| |
| It only makes the air stiff
| |
| Leaving me there
| |
| Alone
| |
| It kills me on the inside
| |
| To not be valued
| |
| Not for my voice
| |
| Not for my looks
| |
| Not for who I am
| |
| The poison stains me
| |
| And that is why I am silent
| |
| | |
| Why can’t it happen
| |
| Many call it a fling
| |
| Many call is something worse
| |
| Something better
| |
| But I call it a chance
| |
| That I know im not deserving of
| |
| Despite my desperation
| |
| Despite my need for it
| |
| No.
| |
| I will be stronger
| |
| I don’t need compassion
| |
| I don’t need any woman
| |
| They do not complete me
| |
| Because they don’t complete themselves
| |
| I can keep clawing in desperation
| |
| I can yearn all I want
| |
| But I am mistaken as always
| |
| I’ll be better in solitude
| |
| | |
| Here I stand
| |
| Standing at this precipice
| |
| Wanting to look forward
| |
| Yet all you see is fog
| |
| But even if the future was clear
| |
| I would only be able to look back
| |
| Backwards at my past
| |
| The good I want to forget
| |
| The bad I need to learn from
| |
| The mistakes I kill myself over
| |
| The passion I reach for now
| |
| And then in the contemporary I look in the mirror
| |
| And realize it’s led to nothing of worth
| |
| If it did I wouldn’t be drained
| |
| I would have purpose
| |
| I would have all I wanted
| |
| Yet all I wanted is as hollow as life itself
| |
| Hollow like society
| |
| Hollow like desire
| |
| Hollow like lust
| |
| Hollow like all humans are
| |
| Because all in all we fade away in each others minds
| |
| Centered on the past and not others nor the future
| |
| Living in the contemporary like it’s all fine
| |
| Yet we lie and lie and lie that we have purpose
| |
| Inventing pleading attempts at meaning
| |
| | |
| Here I move
| |
| Here I run
| |
| Run away from my problems
| |
| For I am weaker than I thought
| |
| But I run with direction
| |
| I flee with purpose
| |
| Towards something else
| |
| Something pointless in the long run
| |
| Because I am pointless
| |
| But I believe
| |
| Through freedom and power
| |
| I will reach new heights
| |
| While I might not have meaning
| |
| I can make it myself
| |
| I need not the touch of a woman
| |
| Nor the compassion I cannot give myself
| |
| Because I will make it myself
| |
| I don’t need to find it
| |
| Finding a vineyard is impossible
| |
| And finding one is pointless
| |
| Because I’ll build it
| |
| I’ll grow it from bare dirt
| |
| It’s already been watered
| |
| I just have to care for once
| |
| And then I will sit and watch
| |
| And hate myself
| |
| But something with change
| |
| Something will grow
| |
| Even if I have no purpose
| |
| | |
| How can I find the light
| |
| When I pollute darkness
| |
| With my mouth
| |
| My touch
| |
| My very presence
| |
| It ruins and withers everything
| |
| How can my head be looking down so many roads
| |
| So much information
| |
| Yet I still have no clue
| |
| Because I’m doomed
| |
| Not because someone ruined it for me
| |
| But because ive burned it
| |
| I’ve burned it all down around me
| |
| So many care
| |
| Yet I make it untrue
| |
| Burning that care
| |
| Because there’s no point
| |
| Where is the light?
| |
| Someday I will discover
| |
| Nothing
| |
| Because there is no light
| |
| | |
| Empty
| |
| As like a hollow space
| |
| Of perhaps a heart
| |
| Or a soul
| |
| Is all that fills my mind and my heart
| |
| And I can’t let it escape
| |
| I won’t
| |
| For a reason that escapes my mind
| |
| At least the rotted part
| |
| But I know that nothing can fill it
| |
| Except me
| |
| But that’s impossible
| |
| Impossible like a warmed heart
| |
| A heart wamed by the warm thought of her
| |
| Yet her face remains concealed from me
| |
| Yet all I can fill it with is contentness in my own image
| |
| But my eyes have been veiled
| |
| My eyes fail to see
| |
| My eyes fail to see the world for what it is
| |
| Because I lack conviction
| |
| Yet it’s always me
| |
| This empty space is so cold
| |
| So constricting
| |
| I cannot act for the people around me don’t allow it
| |
| Yet I must act or I’ll collapse
| |
| From the last spark of light
| |
| To the depths of the abyss
| |
| Where everyone sees a projection
| |
| And not me
| |
| | |
| My feeling is as a wick
| |
| Burning
| |
| Disappearing
| |
| Every interaction is more flame
| |
| Burning me down
| |
| Killing me slowly
| |
| Yet I burn myself faster
| |
| Wanting it to end
| |
| Seeking a death to the path
| |
| For I could never find another wick to share the flame
| |
| I could never make myself stronger to burn longer
| |
| Yet my burning still gives light
| |
| Perhaps that light wil be used by something
| |
| Or it could be found to be beautiful
| |
| Yet that day is not here
| |
| So I must live
| |
| And burn
| |
| While the world watches
| |
| | |
| I didn’t even contribute
| |
| Yet I was the loudest
| |
| I did the most
| |
| Yet I want to die now
| |
| Nothing I said was good
| |
| Nothing I did was good
| |
| There I stood with 3 opportunities
| |
| 3 chances
| |
| 3 windows
| |
| 3 lights
| |
| Some already closed
| |
| And I closed it
| |
| I just cannot help myself
| |
| My disappointment flickers
| |
| To die
| |
| Because I wouldn’t even be worth it
| |
| And nobody will tell me
| |
| Yet everyone knows
| |
| My face
| |
| Isn’t nice without the mask
| |
| I was a fool to attempt a removal
| |
| And that is all I ever will be
| |
| A fool
| |
| And a mistake
| |
| | |
| | |
| Imagine
| |
| Imagine a moment
| |
| Where you are one of my heart
| |
| I no longer have to turn the inner eye
| |
| To see why I am left void in others
| |
| Because you fill the vision of my eyes
| |
| Simply imagine that
| |
| Despite… wait
| |
| Now imagine a moment
| |
| Where you are seen
| |
| Under the mask of perfection
| |
| The mask of humor and appearance
| |
| And seen for what you really are
| |
| You
| |
| Your flawed fatality
| |
| There is no flawed beauty
| |
| Now open your real eyes
| |
| And realize that’s all that exists
| |
| Now stop imagining
| |
| For it will do you no good
| |
| Just like this life
| |
| | |
| How could the face be gone
| |
| What is a mask without something to conceal
| |
| Why must I join the multitude of the mindless
| |
| Where the face must be influenced to have shape
| |
| Turning you into a shapeless faceless thing
| |
| Why can’t the inner eye see anymore
| |
| And rely upon those others within the mass
| |
| To simply know peace
| |
| Yet peace doesn’t come
| |
| It never can
| |
| Ones worth is a face reflecting ambition
| |
| Yet the mindless have no ambition
| |
| No mind to think
| |
| No will to break
| |
