I haven’t slept for days and my mind is misfiring strings of information, inflaming every sense not already being blocked. Blank stairs fill rooms of empty people and my mind, eyes of men and angels to warm the souls. Maybe I am asleep but my mind is to hopped up on memories and energy drinks to recognize it. It continues to misfire because it doesn’t know what to do. Dexterity and misinformation and bitter wind mornings, walking for things have and don’t need again. Marooned into a trip for nothing, long declared a failure. Don’t look into my eyes, don’t listen to my stories, I’m not sure if there real anymore. Random and insignificant events grouped together into a timeline that never really happened. Thoughts bleed from memories, the only hope had. The tales untold are worlds inside my eyelids, imagining the next great idea, translated by the pen as scribbles, and reinterpreted by the mind as nothing, awakening to find the worlds gone. Stories carved into stone wouldn’t fair much better. Everything make sense, everything has a personality, Synesthesia. Nothing but memory loss and bits and pieces. Come into this false timelinefor just one minute and tell me its wrong, not just the words on the paper, but the meaning behind it, the ideas that lay within the page, Times had by all and remebered by all until we come down. Paranoia and the search. Everything contributes to the misfires, the lost memories, the lack of sleep,everything. That’s way the senses are blocked, the timeline is wrong. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.