Looking for pen.
Found it behind your ear.
Such is life.
We build worlds.
The walls block out the harshest elements.
I wonder if it can be judged,
Good or bad?
If "there" is the only place we know exists...
Searching for the big picture.
In the dark hanging from the Sistine Chapel ceiling,
With just a candle.
I just want the truth,
Afraid to be mistaken for a vandal.
Protected by illusions.
Sharply penetrated -> Reality -> Contusion
Shattered sky = conclusion,
The shards are falling.
To reveal what?
The Heavens are calling.
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