Everything you take is like a photograph.
Now I have nothing left.
No more angles, no more stories, no more positions or movement.
I am solid. A staue gone unidolized in a crowd at a museum.
They forgot what I am made of,
They forgot my name.
Everything captured, has not been emptied.
A build up of raging cells in a volcano stir and erupt in my brain.
And when I dream, I can't wake up.
I have to face the monsters I've been shielding all day long.
