Lines from this black box are too easily Made into thoughts in my head that I wish would not stay. Why am I always ahead of this game? In trying to I find there's nothing to save! The times that I spend on my own are both blessings And bastards depending on that way in which I Inflect on them; this changes daily and so what I'm Left with at the end of the day is this: An elegant fury so blessed and sweet yet so cold And ferocious when stood on it's feet it scares Even me, half to death. Half awake, I sit here Today to move on without haste but the current Is strong and my idle thoughts weak. Things that I care for, not nurtured, look bleak. But as I ready myself to stand up and go out. I only need think one more though here and now; I am not alone. Beat heart, beat.