Crisis The Watcher
i am part of the gate. cold hard rusted keeping the prisoner inside. i am just
an outline... disease starting down so deep eating its way out. this is where it
begins (secret captive sin) in a single rod of the iron gate rusted and no
longer serving its purpose i curve my posture, veil the reflections of
comprehension in eyes and breathe... and watch them participate in the movement
of the play while i am welded into the gate to watch them marching onward... i
am just an outline... travel onward through crevice of shallow space catch a
breath crawl onward travel onward through crevice of shallow space catch a
breath crawl onward searing in this i die, in the openness of wound.. i am part
of the gate. i am cold, i am rusted. i am the prisoner inside.
