My hands have not worked as they used to. My mind, you see; it unravels and shakes. I wake up in the hold of indifference, the collective weight of nothing.

I am chased by shadows I know no location of. Specters of a fleeting persistence, a remembrance of childhood innocence and ignorance.

Right now I am asleep. Nestled within the neurons of the chaos that is my home. Where there are no ends, there is no Justice. There is only a darkness I call unfinished work. In the child whom sleeps.