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Wrought,

Mold

through

in-tense experience.

Form

tempered;

ready to bear

light.

Born.

Seperated

from its mother

six months alone, in the dark

no love, cursed in silence

life sings a pathetic song.

yet, through a twist of luck, the form absconds fate.

Guardians have adopted, filled the form full of hope

taught how to express oneself

through sonic waves and well placed names

Distinct all the way to the grave.

solipsolistic thoughts pervade reality

no context for its abilities, no tree.

theres only one way for me to demonstrate

avow the complexity of my being

rock and roll never felt so good...