My mind ,, a masterful watch
Ever feeling
Distorting
Playing
It seems as though breadcrumbs
Dont become keys
To the dungeon doors
When no one can save the man imprisoning himself
the bread crumbs from bakers batch.
Excite the crows...
gathering like watchmen in the dark seconds in between.

It seems as though this story has been written before..
By the hands of another.
With no deception greater than the illusion of time.
Never knowing
Never needing
Always concealing
But fear not the seconds between,,
My story is nothing more than the ripples in the water
And the seconds between
Become the voice in which frees my soul