My memories are not my own,
Setting in which I dwell, not my home.
But what of my skin? What of my bones?
They resonate with mismatched melody,
the wrong tones,
How is it, I've grown so cold?
Am I merely a pawn?
Merely a drone?
Some facet of another's plan,
My very actions by their hand.
Did I willingly choose this?
Or was I abandoned?
Forced to build, from what I'd been left:
Burnt wood and ashes?
When I awake from my dreams,
I feel as if I've been reborn,
But I never remember,
the events that occur.
I've been told,
I relinquish words while I'm asleep,
but I mutter them, an indecipherable speech.
What's it feel like to grow old,
to have your flesh decay?
To have the ink ridden cells within this shell,
slowly fade away.
Have you ever fallen asleep
to the sounds of war?
Have you heard the Reaper
Knock upon your door?
The tip-tapping of skeletal hand
The whimper of a lonely man,
Yes, the reaper comes, as he goes,
Has no friends, nor has he foes.
That reaper man that all men know,
I wonder what it's like to have him at your door,
asking, “What's it feel like to live forever?
What's it feel like to never grow old?”
My past's nothing short of tragic,
That's why I leave, I choose to leave it, the fuck alone.
City of dual existence,
We must find for ourselves
The New Haven,
Located in mirror dimension,
We prepare for exploration because we realize.

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