The compass points North,
To a state of supernatural exchanges,
Found only in ethereal paradoxes,
Of self placed on self,
This idle knowledge is breaking,
Fracturing in silent meadows and scars,
I hold on, but my deliverance has fallen,
And so it departs amongst the thickness,
Of extinct societies,
Tracing back what once was,
This space, this home,
No recollection of words,
Just a hollow electricity of freedom,
Wrapped upon itself in reckless mannerisms,
Promises are seen hanged,
Pardoning itself from unknown secrecies,
That’s seen in nebulous eyes,
As I imprison such obligations,
And forget my own cognition,
Disabling myself through webs of misperceptions.