I have become lion gate, unignited fume, life inside of me becomes a magic broom of thought and disease and unwanted pleasures that are anyhow forgotten. I no longer know them, or there, or anywhere, truth be, truth is, truth wants down a second slips away.
Oh you thought that I spoke truth or that I was unafraid and sure. That is not true. I have no answer or any design ready for that kind of pitched insanity, oh burning orb and mirror set to shine, full is only what was left behind.
It would be better if I am quiet now. I do not know, I.