Everything is just ideas and spell-work, the heavens above, and I'm just the pen, but nothing is real, if it can be nice, it will be, but if you’re intent on looking down on it, aware of the risk, and you let it go, the truth will twist, the beasts and shadows, the abyss creatures, they’ll smell the hint of it, a possibility of ill intent, and so many spirits are all-encompassing and pure, a shadow of doubt and they’ll pounce, your eyes open, magick in the air, and so much possibility, there’s only a few things you can do, allow the worm to wriggle, naked in Eden, and just be honest, or bury yourself in the dirt, and when the sun shines, just hide, poor and innocent, what can a person do, the best he can, to not cause trouble, and avoid starting fires, children and their free trial of life, ignorance can cause so much damage, so much string to be entangled in, try to keep it clean, or do your best to hold onto reality, but magick exists, for the heavens above, there are only ideas, and words are real, as a poet, willful and whimsical, my chains are solid, such great blasphemy, I’m imprisoned, there’s so much greatness in the world, whether science or magick, I don’t quite understand a lot of it, but there all sorts of ingenious ways to live, my mistake was that I looked at the stars and gave in, try, try your best, as a person, I don’t want to live, but love and life, for those who dare, so much good, waits for those who care…

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