I proceed slowly like the rising sun, I cannot help but to think of all the time I have, and still, choose to waste.
I am the misunderstood, haunted by their past. It seems to always catch up with me, who I am now is distilled by who I used to be,
I cannot help but shake the feeling of damnation wherever I go. I cannot help but to not reveal these scars to those near; I have become exiled from proponents of fear.
I have become the observer of illusion, set to explore the fragments of delusion sweeping across the lands. My voyage upon this path is cold, and my feet are tired.
I continue as a wandering soul, afraid to go to the place where I may return whole.
I wished for eyes to see truth, and life granted me with a little more; so always read the fine prints in life, and be careful what you bargain for.