Prototype

Falling in a pointless rut of Second hand nostalgia rotting Away from the inside but the Sufferings exquisite That I may know a sleep that comes Unhithered and unweighted by Memory, infects my every step towards release The lingering The lingering The lingering The lingering Wafting scent that beckons me in To a cracked and dim tableau Cast off trinkets strewn out, laid bare Sepia toned decay Clutching to a picture of a Perfect time that never was Ideal as we'd want it to Be flawless imperfection Could've, might've... never will know Looping over endless days Festering in recall, choking Down the muddied waters Cut away and cast off every Vile and malignant tie Binding me in stagnant acts of Pointless flagellation Ca - thar -sis Crafted by my own hand I'm a Thing that must be made anew Bent by will as easy into Art or cruel weapon