Is it that I have long given up the things of yesterday, or is it that they were stolen from me? Maybe I'm so lost in my own pain that I cannot acknowledge the destruction of the world around me. There is no rest for the wicked. And since I haven't been able to sleep well, I suppose I'm just as juxtaposed as those heathens. Lined me up for bread and shots to the dome, emboss my body in a tomb full of chrome. Or so they wish to pontificate by the delusioned. But to the disillusioned who wear their hearts on their sleeves as they face the stark reality of a loveless life. What does it mean to truly be alone? I've tasted it when I slipped into the void as I attempted to reverse the effects of cognitive dissonance. A weapon that kills off the soul in a single swipe. Or it gives the target a means to give up their will with ease.