Cognitive internal inversions/a soliloquy to the Earth.

Suppressive reclusions.

I know nothing of Anyone, nor of myself; except only the story given to me to rehearse.

A few components and tools for me to recurse, but they too- become finite and dull.

The bell tolls and the children laugh; singing and prancing, momentarily, forgetting the worlds wrath.

They say I shall never learn and that I was to excel at nothing.

I take from that, of what I can't, and try to make do.

Post-mature and still cursed.

I know know nothing of Anyone, nor of myself; Except a single story to rehearse.