All these dreams of survival, of romance and little care, agelessness and lack of worry are slipping through my hands. They are chased and quickly and effortlessly overpowered by the horror of rotting in jails and jobs. These thoughts of friends, love and summer have withdrawn that bit too far in your mind, you can't quite see it any more, only worsened by the occasional wisp of smell and sound and warmth, or buoyed along on the back of songs, or just before you awake. You could love her if you could remember who she was. She would be beautiful if you could just recall her face. Yet here you are slumped and sullen, angry and diminished. The abyss is taking you apart. Here you are slumped and sullen, angry and diminished. I don't want you to see me this angry, the abyss has taken me apart. And what am I supposed to do, what is left to feed the soul when you learn how dark men's minds, how consistently cruel his hands?