Transgress the plain of inevitablity. Take the pills the doctor gave you. Become the world's spawn of hate. Be my own little doll child I carry under my arm, and be the burden that lays upon my breast.

What more can I tell you, in no words of bad advice? I am tired and soon the weight of sleeplessness may cave in on me and swallow me whole. What is reason? But, something that I do not own. Or possibly it is something that must torment my soul. That reaches down to the bottomof me and rips my heart out and makes me a cold diease ridden shell. With a soul of ash and being robbed by one-hundred men. The "souls" on my shoes are far too heavy for me to out last, for me to so lightly grasp. Yet there is no helping hand? No beautiful shining light at the end of my tunnel of my transgression? Munipulation of a innocent mind? No love for pitiful "soles" that keep the world sounding. Sonarous life that surround mind and my endless ranting that makes no sense...

Yet no differencedoes it make...I ask of it to make something of it's self...I ask of you to make of it sense. But it asks of me far to much. So burden come...I welcome you. Come and lay upon my already all to heavy chest.