I find each day to short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the songs I want to sing, all the friends I want to see, and all the times I want to say I love you. With prayers in my pockets I search the carnival of my soul for some type of end in the beginning, a circle of belief, a madness with a method in this vicious reality where my undiscovered innocence is no longer hidden in the shade of the sun. Time is my harmony companion, but at the same time my disagreeing difference; and time shall be the keeper of the keys to unlock moments doors upon instant periods of terms and the toll due for bad dreams come true are words of silence that echo this silent room, but warrants a well of affection for honorable attached dedication. Sorrow to shame, and my curious addiction bend my soul to a resurrecting sin where moonlight spotlights cast a spark on th ghosts behind my eyes and heed the voices in my walls that create images from words, smiles from pain, and judgement from ignorance. Everyday sends future to past, every breath leaves me one less, and in my thirteenth confession I shall admittingly reveal that the source of my infection is this beautiful pained solitary limited confinment of seasoned time. The devine intervention of this lone forsaken time is a fancy judgement of imaginative impression that the end of conviction, this labyrinth of simple yes and no, and the social diseases will rise to a darker sky before the King of Solitude because the purpose of time is not so much the length of it; but the depth. If we make great use of the time that we live then possibly in the end we will outlast time itself, but I tell you nothing because there is nothing I can say that would describe how I feel as perfectly as you deserve, but time itself shall initiate you into endless sleep. But it will not whisper it into your ear but into your heart, and it's impelling influence shall not kiss your lips but it shall kiss your soul.

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