I find myself babbling of imaginary footing as if it would ever be feasible. Hiding like spiders in the crevices of an abandoned home. Taking mortar of misfortune, and bricks of dirty realism to build a fortress in the depths of this conjure. All while I
dance with these shadows; I know I'm falling to the bottom. This time around no one will catch me. My resentment churns as this longest day persists; with my eyes weak, from the blinding light, and my ears bleeding, from the screeching of "progress" racing throughout the
streets; all while ridiculing. I've accomplished nothing. And as my teeth rot away, I file them down to prevent what I might say. To think of worse things to come is the place where I am one; alone in this somber silence, compiling numbers and reasons to figure out the

science. I find light in the darkest of spaces, through the lake of fire and down the corridor of faces; all the way to a fortress I've mended in my mind, made up only by me, no work of the divine. Because I've committed every sin and I know that god wouldn't let me in.
So I resent my fake $#&@ing father and curse his and my every move. I've wasted all my effort on this. I've got nothing left and nothing to prove.