I pace so vividly indulged with sadness.
When my time sits still. Alone from the masses
Stomach all tied in nots, and my dreams of being.
-Of that which my conception I can adhere to-
Pondering the next thought, of that which I’m to do
Which remedy can be of some relevance?
Or utterly of the slightest bit of prevalence.

Something has to equate, I’ve got to find some equality.
That thing that can relate. This scene is driving me mad
Sitting here with all of this drive. Wondering, I’m I still alive?
Refraining from the mass hysteria, my wits want to convey.
Convening freely of the peace that’s not given often.
Guess my aura, as that of a marshmallow, is softened.

Relapses of the old, always do seem come to grips.
-As though an unearthly movement has made a shift-
Turning ever so slowly, as the wind does move.
I must however sit back, and consider my pondering mood.
At times I harken back to that of an unyielding fool
Pending the circumstance of my shifting evolution.
--Hope the for one day I want need an institution–