While i sit alone in this room i've got crates full of sorrow even more filled with shadows that i fish out and ridicule when i'm feeling lonely. I'm lacking sense, but bound in a very specific direction it's phenomenal and unprecedented it's a chip of the old block and a step up the new ladder. Mr.Scribe, i write to you pen and penchant aimed to pour over a fool left with no more rhymes i'm poetically franchised. I'm in charge for the day in terminal wanderlust i've excited my worst thoughts exorcised what was lost am i a bad seed sprouting up or am i not? I'm not sure what sad is but listless i'm not my lists are never ending and my emotions aren't store-bought and tears, they eighter deceive or endear me i'm your little golden nugget collecting dust bored with my own stale and directed thoughts in a place where so much life and loves aboune it's a amazing how little tempts me from my glass house.