As he waits to be born. How he digs at the thorn in his side. He just needs to kiss the wound. Let it bleed. Morning never comes to those that bother, and the nights so cold. Morning never comes, and it leaves us sightless searching for something to hold. As he tries to forget that simple one never met. Foolish smile, he can't place just himself, another face. He wonders where it went and wonders if it meant so much. He mourns the hours spent, running from himself. He hates the way he felt and turns it towards himself. He's overcome by guilt. It chases him away. Purpose, engage, explode, release.